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trippinsorrows · 7 days

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looking through your eyes + seventeen

authors note: this chapter covers the aftermath of solana's attempt in the previous chapter. please heed to content warnings in order to make an informed decision regarding reading this chapter.

i'm going to handle solana's experience in the hospital as realistically as i can, but there are creative liberties taken as well. and don't come for me for the ending either. :/

cw/tw: angst, discussion and coverage of the aftermath of a suicide attempt, mental health discussions.

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 15k

Roman has a long to-do list. He always does and always will. But, this is by far one of the last things he wants to do.

He’s going on 24 hours of no sleep, which isn’t the first time he’s done as such, but it’s the first time he’s done as such and actually felt the impact of the sleep deprivation. And truth be told, deep down he knows the exhaustion that he feels is more mental than anything.

It’s the result of the toll that finding out Solana tried to kill herself has taken on him.

Is taking on him.

But, he can’t deal with that shit right now. He can’t deal with it because he’s got his Wise Man, Rikishi, Solo, Jimmy and Jey all sitting around him, wearing various levels of confused expressions. Which only irritates Roman more because Rikishi and Paul are the only ones who should be confused. The twins have been with him dealing with all of the shit the past 24 hours.

Solo too.

Rikishi is the first to speak, studying Roman. The Tribal Chief is more than sure he noticed the grimace on Roman’s face as he went to roll his shoulders, remembering yet again of the wound that probably won’t heal as quickly as predicted given the fact he’s done the complete opposite of ‘taking it easy.’

“You gonna tell us what happened or—”

“There was an assassination attempt on Solana’s life last night.” Roman’s sentence is matter-of-fact and to the point, nevermind the fact that his right hand forms into a fist at just saying as such.

Rikishi and Paul share shocked expressions, Roman’s older cousin being the one to ask, “is she—”

“Bullet hit me instead. Didn’t lodge. I’ll be fine.” Roman only adds that last part because of the horrified look on Paul’s face, already knowing his Wise Man will bombard him with questions about his injury. “Xavier Miller and his boy were behind the attempt. I’m handling them now.”

“But sir, why would Miller want his own daughter dead?”

Roman closes his eyes and rolls his neck, working to settle his rising temper. He hates talking about this shit. It only spikes his eagerness to get his hands on Miller and rip him apart limb by limb. “Because she didn’t go along with his plan.”

Rikishi speaks up again. “Plan?”

Roman’s jaw clenches. “He wanted her to kill me.”

The rest of the men look equally shocked, Paul gasping loudly, asking, “she’s a traitor?”

If looks could kill, Paul would be six feet under. Roman has to mentally restrain from acting out on his suddenly murderous urges. “She’s my wife.”

Rikishi, however, seemingly tosses his longtime friend a lifeline, trying to reason with his younger cousin. “Uce, that doesn’t mean she can’t be both—”

“What I’m hearing….” Solo surprises the men around the table as he sits forward. “—is that she can’t be trusted.”

Roman isn’t sure just how much of his anger and rage at the accusations being slung against Solana is showing, his Solana, but it must be enough for the twins, of all people, to try and de-escalate.

“Come on now, this is Soso we talking about.” Jimmy is the first to kick off peacemaking. He looks at his father, “pops, you was there when we first met her. She was nervous as shit. Ain’t nothing about that girl dangerous.”

Jey chimes in, handling Solo. “And you of all people should definitely know that’s not Solana. She would never hurt nobody, let alone kill nobody.”

Solo, however, simply scoffs. “Like she ain’t hurt her brother?”

“What was she supposed to do? Let him beat her?” Jimmy is the one to snap, shouting back with a suck of his teeth, “man, that bitch deserved it!”

Rikishi jumps in, defending his younger son. “I think what Solo is trying to say is that it proves she is, in fact, capable of hurting someone if she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to hurt Roman? That don’t even make no—”

“Enough!” Roman’s fist slams down on the table. “The next person to say one more negative thing about my wife is getting a bullet in their fucking skull.” There’s a blanket of silence, all of the men knowing that Roman would absolutely carry through on this threat. A promise, really.

Roman swallows, both from anger and something else he can’t pinpoint. “Solana tried to kill herself last night. What in the fuck about that presents a danger?” He doesn’t care enough to observe the reactions of that news. Doesn’t give a fuck. “The only person she’s a danger to is herself.”

Paul is the brave soul, or perhaps just stupidly and naively asking, “is she—okay?”

“I said tried, didn’t I?” Roman snaps, forcing the pudgy man to recoil back in his seat. Roman clenches his jaw yet again, directing his statement to the next older man. “Rikishi.” He runs a hand over his face. “Meet with the Elders. Tell them about the assassination attempt. That it was Miller. Nothing about the plan. And leave it at that.”

Rikishi removes his glasses, sitting up at the table. “Roman, the Elders should know—”

“The Elders know what I want them to know, and I want them to know that someone tried to kill my wife, and I’m handling it. That’s it.” Incapable of dealing with any more of this shit, Roman stands up from the chair, turning his back on the rest of his family. “Wise Man, let’s go.”

The obese man also shoots up from the chair, nearly tripping over his feet as he wordlessly follows Roman out of the room.

Left alone is just Rikishi and his sons, the patriarch asking, “she tried to kill herself?”

Jimmy and Jey wear similar frowns, recalling the horrific truth they learned about their ‘Soso’ just hours prior. Jimmy shuts his eyes, unable to push away the memory of a hysterical Naomi throwing herself into his chest at the memory of finding Solana unconscious.

“It’s….it’s a long story,” Jey answers in a low voice, wanting to be respectful. Aware or not, Solana’s story is hers to tell and hers only.

Truthfully, he’s slightly surprised Roman even disclosed that part of the past 24 hours.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of the story that Roman left out,” Solo suddenly finds his voice again, sharing directly to his father and brothers. “Like the fact that Roman took that bullet for her.”

“What?” Riksihi asks, shock stamped all over his voice.

“I was right there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed her out the way.”

Jimmy shrugs. “He protected his wife. What’s wrong with that? We all would have done the same.”

Jey nods in agreement. Rikishi looks torn.

Solo continues, pointing out. “But, Roman ain’t like us. He’s the Tribal Chief. He needs to act like it.”

“Careful, son,” Rikishi cautions, seemingly breaking from his conflicted state. “Your Uce sits at the head of the table for a reason. His ways may be unorthodox at times, but his reign won’t be questioned. We won’t disrespect him.”

Solo scoffs. “But you’ll disrespect the other Elders by lying for him?”

Jey jumps in, chiding, “man, what’s up with you tonight?”

Solo scoffs, pointing to himself. “Me? I’m not the one whose judgment is clouded. We all know if this was one of us and the roles were reversed with our wives, Roman would want them executed. He’s not thinking straight.” Solo looks around the room, noticing there’s a brief second of silence. “Ya’ll see it too. I’m just the only one who’s willing to say it. Roman is losing focus—”

“That’s enough, Solo.” Rikishi raises his voice, firmer, that of a father. “You’re out of line, son.”

Solo looks around the room, halfway waiting for his older brothers to jump to his defense, to agree with what they have to know is the truth. But, when that doesn’t happen, he also shoots up from the table, rocking it in the process, leaving the room without another word.

Once gone, Jimmy motions with his thumb. “Man, he is tripping.” He shakes his head, asking his father, “you want us to talk to him?”

“No.” Rikishi answers almost immediately, sighing heavily, running his hand over his face. “I’ll do it….you all just….watch Roman.” He stands up, as Jey mutters something about having the hard job. “And sons….this conversation doesn’t leave this room, understood?” Jimmy and Jey look slightly confused and taken back, Rikishi explaining, “I know you’re both closer with Roman. But, he’s just your cousin. Solo is your brother. He’s definitely tripping, but he’s still your family too, and there’s nothing more important than brotherhood, alright?”

________

Roman awakens with a heavy sigh that’s followed by his eyes closing.

His sleep has been shit the past few days, and it’s been solely because his bed is cold and empty on the other side. Because he’s sleeping alone, something he once cherished but now can barely tolerate. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed Solana’s soft body pressed up against him, the satisfaction he felt waking up to her every morning.

Now, he just awakens to silence or the sound of Dulce whimpering or barking.

Dulce’s whimpers on the side of the bed remind him of the fact that she’s still sleeping in his room. In their room. On Solana’s side.

Her empty side.

Moving the blankets off, Roman swings his big body over the side of the bed and walks over to motion for her to follow him. “Come on.”

He knows she has to empty her bladder, but he’s grateful for a reason to leave the space that reeks of Solana, a constant reminder of her absence.

It’s….an experience, to say the least.

Picking her up, he carries her down the steps, through the house, and out the back sliding door by the kitchen. Roman places her in the grass, letting her do her business as he goes to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise lounge.

He closes his eyes.

Love.

Suck a weird fucking thing. Something he’s never really understood.

Or felt.

Not….not in this aspect at least.

He’s always been confounded by the emotion that makes people act so outside of their character, clouds their judgment, and seizes their brain in crippling ways. He never saw the appeal in it. Never wanted it.

And then came Solana.

If someone had told him four months ago that he’d not only be married to a woman he actually cares about let alone would end up loving, he’d probably knock them flat on their ass. Harshly criticize their stupidity at the very least.

Falling in love with Solana was never the plan. He never wanted this for himself. He just needed to marry to create an official heir. And that was it. She would do her thing, taking care of the kid and whatnot. And he would still do him, continuing his life of commitment free sexual relations with whoever was his flavor of the week. Or day.

And yet all of that, just the thought of it, sours his expression.

He doesn’t want anyone other than Solana. Doesn’t desire to be intimate with anyone other than her. It’s her he wants to wake up to every morning, her he wants to make happy. He just wants her. Nobody else.

Because he loves her.

And it’s a shocking, life changing realization he finally stumbled into while sitting at her hospital bed. An epiphany he’s certain was heavily transitioned from subconscious to conscious given the events that transpired that night.

She almost died, was almost shot, and there’s not a fucking part of him would do anything differently. He’d take that bullet and any other bullet for her anytime.

Because he loves her.

He stood between her and her piece of shit father, not thinking twice about it, only knowing that decision would forever negatively change her life. Thinking how he promised her he would never let her end up in that position.

Because he loves her.

And he sat at her hospital bed, holding her hand, pouring his heart out to her because the second those infamous words left Jey’s mouth, his world nearly collapsed. He couldn’t think straight as he rushed to the hospital, uncaring and uninterested in anything except being with her, holding her, catering to her. Whatever she needed. He just needs her to be okay.

Because he loves her.

Roman’s head tilts back, the weight of all this lying on his chest.

He can’t deny it. Can’t deny he loves her. Not to himself, at least. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

There’s…..there’s no room for love in his life. No place for it. Love is weakness, and Roman has never and can never be weak. He’s the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table. The leader of the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra. There is no space for weakness.

Or love.

And yet….it’s there.

It’s there for her.

Dulce walking over to the chaise lounge that Roman realizes is usually the one she sits on when she’s writing brings him back to the sadness that creeps in at her absence. Dulce must feel the same as she lays down, ears also down, whimpering.

Roman beckons her over, watching as she slowly walks over to his feet, ears still down as he picks her up and places her on his lap. It’s something not even a week ago he would probably do. But, that was then, and this is now.

And now, he almost feels a sense of duty to Solana’s puppy.

Because it’s this same puppy, he’s learned, that barked nonstop at Bayley and Naomi, running over to Solana and starting to cry, effectively alerting them that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

With an uncharacteristic level of emotion, Roman gently strokes the top of her head. “You saved her life….” For his own mental sanity, Roman chooses not to think about what the alternative could have been. What his reality would be if this small, five pound animal didn’t have such a close, protective bond to her human. “Thank you.”

Dulce whimpers in response, laying her body on his lap, staring at the empty pool chair.

Roman sighs, eyes shutting again.

The emotion is undeniable as he acknowledges in a soft voice. “I miss her too..”

This shit is much harder than he realized.

________

Roman: How are you doing?

Solana glances at her lock screen at hearing the familiar, personalized notification sound. The sound she set specifically for texts from her husband. Her smile is already set on her face but settles into something deeper as another message slides in.

Roman: Do you need me to come home?

Placing the pencil down on the nearest surface, she swaps out her task at hand for a brief break to respond to the question she anticipated would be proposed at some point in the day.

Just not this soon, perhaps.

Solana wipes one hand on her shorts, the other unlocking her phone to open his thread. Preparing to reply, her gaze shifts over to her sweet baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his infant pillow. Low, relaxing music plays from her Alexa on the nightstand, lulling and keeping him in his slumber. Similarly, Dulce lays peacefully in her bed on Solana’s side of the bed, curled into a little ball.

The smile somehow grows deeper.

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t need to come home, really.

Solana quickly snaps a photo of the baby and includes it with her next message.

Solana: We’re good. :)

Solana brings her finger to gently caress her son’s cheek. He has such a calm disposition about him. Even at 6 weeks. She can just see he’s taken on more of her demeanor than his dad’s. Granted, she also noticed the same thing about her oldest twin, only for her to gradually be morphing into the female version of her father.

Roman hearting the photo captures her attention once again followed by his reply, which seems to be the result of long distance mind reading.

Roman: He’s been a lot easier than the girls were. But, time will tell.

Roman: Where are they?

She giggles, imagining his elongated sigh as he considers what could be in store for them once their son starts to get bigger and older. Can move around and get into things with his sisters. It’s more likely than not bound to happen.

Solana: In their playrooms. They’ve been surprisingly quiet too….for now. Lol

Solana knows her girls well enough to know silence with them, mostly when they’re together, isn’t usually long lived. The quieter of the two is very much like Solana, able to stay and keep to herself just fine without making much or any noise. Her sister, however, older by 6 minutes exactly, is not.

She is rambunctious and loud and loves to be moving. And when they’re together, that adventurous nature rubs off on Solana’s twin, usually resulting in them getting into something. More often than not.

Roman: I talked to them last night. Reminded them it's important they listen and help you out.

This is something she already knew, having overheard as he put them to bed while she catered to their newborn. He’s done that a lot since the birth of their son. Really taken over as much as he can with helping the girls, when it’s something he can do. And if he can’t do it, like them wanting to do art with her or bake something, usually the youngest vs the oldest, he’s on baby duty.

Whether he realizes it or not, he truly is great at being a dad. Though something tells her, always has, that even three kids deep, he struggles with that insecurity at not being good at it.

Not being good enough.

Roman: I still think it was too early for me to come back to work and leave you alone with everything.

And there it is. What Solana already knew he was thinking but is happy to see him finally admit. Roman’s been working from home the past six weeks, since the birth of their son. And while she’s appreciated having him home, helping her out with managing their growing family, it was time for him to return back to the ‘office.’

She knows he worries about her, worries about her feeling overwhelmed, but she’s been good the past few years with being open with him. That hasn’t and won’t change.

Solana: You were going to have to go back eventually, Ro. I’m okay, really. The girls really don’t cause me any issues. And he’s easy.

Solana: Outside of when he’s groping and squeezing the mess out of my breast. 😅

Breastfeeding has never been much of an issue for Solana. And, while it was definitely a bit of a challenge breastfeeding twins, there was never a pressing enough problem for her to not consider doing the same for her third child.

Granted, unlike the girls who, at most, felt around her breast while getting their fill, her son is more handsy. His little palms often slapping, squeezing and even scratching with his nails she makes sure to try to keep cut low.

She chuckles, thinking about how this could very much be another small sign she’s in store for yet another energetic child. It lines up though. Even when he’s sleepy, little scowl on his face, she sees Roman. In all of the children, really. But with him, the way his little lips dip and light eyebrows cave into a look of unmistakable disapproval, usually when she takes too long to pick him up or feed him, that’s all Roman.

Roman: Smart kid.

She giggles, sending out a reply that’s a result of years of growing more comfortable with teetering the lines of risque topics and innuendos.

Solana: Your kid, clearly. 😅

Roman: Damn straight.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she keeps the conversation going with another risky text.

Solana: Just two more weeks until I’m….cleared.

Over the years, and as she’s continued to heal, Solana has found herself with a sexual appetite that’s nowhere near her husband’s nor most women her age, but it’s there. Coming and going. Ebbing and flowing. And lately, it’s been on the flowing side.

Roman: We should wait longer.

Roman: I’m not taking any risks.

She sighs at his reply that’s not entirely unsurprising. He absolutely would want to go past the recommended 8 weeks that she was told by her doctor that they would need to wait to resume intimacy. An extended period of time than the usual 6 weeks due to the second degree tear she sustained while birthing her third child. A thing that can happen during childbirth and wasn’t anything too serious, but something she knows her husband sees as just that.

Thus him wanting to not ‘take any risks.’

Solana: I understand.

Understanding is different from agreeing, but she won’t push him on it.

Solana: Besides, don’t want to risk another baby.

Solana: Just yet anyway….

Having this conversation over text probably isn’t the way to go, but she has no doubt he’ll talk with her about it more in person when he comes home tonight, after all three kids are down for bed.

That doesn’t mean they can’t start it now, at least, though.

Roman: Seriously? You really want another baby?

Roman: He isn’t even a year yet.

Roman: You forget I’m 10 years older than you. I’m getting too old for all these kids, Solana.

It’s true they just welcomed their baby boy not even two months ago. And Roman is aging. He’s older, the gray in his beard spreading by the day, but he’s still just as active and fit into his forties as he was when they met years prior. Thus, he’s exaggerating.

Solana: No, you’re not.

Solana: And that wasn’t a no…..

His reply comes in a bit quicker than she was anticipating.

Roman: It wasn’t.

She smiles. Solana has learned her husband well over the years. Knows him well enough to know that if there wasn’t a part of him also interested in maybe having another child, he would be clear about his standpoint. He would express his disagreement.

So his comment would suggest he’s not team no. That he’s open, and his following texts confirm as such.

Roman: But, this would be it. Four is more than enough.

She smiles, knowing that this definitely will still be discussed in person tonight but happy that he’s unwilling to deny himself. Solana’s love for him has only deepened since seeing him step into the role of fatherhood.

She just wishes she could get him to see how good he is at this. The girls wouldn’t adore him as much as they do if he was bad at it, per se.

But, he’s not.

If only he could see it.

Solana: Unless we get another set of twins….😅

Roman: Jesus Christ

Solana giggles, imagining the look he must have on his face. Probably similar to when they found out about the girls. She wasn’t entirely surprised given how strongly twins run on his side of the family.

But, he most certainly was.

A quiet knock pulls her from the conversation as she lays her eyes on the twins who are waiting by the door with hesitant expressions. She waves them over, placing her finger over her mouth to remind them to be quiet to avoid waking up the still sleeping baby.

They tip toe over to her, moving to her side of the bed, leaning over and looking at him. The oldest is the one to ask, whispering, “why does he sleep so much, mama?”

Solana chuckles. “That’s what babies do. They need a lot of sleep to grow big and strong.”

The quieter of the two of them deviates from her usual silence to predict, “he’s gonna be big and strong like papa.”

The oldest, however, doesn’t hesitate to reiterate. “I’m still gonna be the tribal chief though.”

Solana has such a torn reaction she does well at hiding. As much as she loves how much her technically first born admires Roman and wants to be just like him, she also has no idea just what it is that Roman really does. The true weight that comes with wearing the Ula Fala.

Or the fact that by his family’s laws and traditions, their son is the true heir to the Bloodline. Granted, she also suspects it’s those same laws and traditions Roman will fight tooth and nail to change should their daughter, even after knowing the truth about the Bloodline, still want to pursue taking his place when the time comes for him to step down.

Roman would do anything to give her just as much a chance to the keys to the kingdom as her brother.

But, that’s so far down the line, and Solana doesn’t like thinking about it too much. She just wants to enjoy her children as they are now, innocent and oblivious.

Ms. Quiet stays on her talking streak, asking quietly, “can we still go to aunt Bayley’s house today?”

Solana nods. She briefly forgot about that, but it’s still very much doable. “Of course.”

The girls gasp and look at each other, Solana already knowing another request is about to follow. Roman’s little twin ends up being the one to ask, “mama, can we go see papa at his office before?”

She shouldn’t be surprised. One of their favorite things to do is stop by and see Roman while he’s at work. Something she hasn’t done in some time, not since the birth of her son and even then, it had been a few months.

Solana starts to text and ask him if he’s busy, but one look at the happiness on the girls’ faces at being able to see their dad, and she knows she doesn’t need to.

She knows there’s no way on God’s green earth that he would turn them away, even if he stopped or canceled a meeting just to interact with them.

That’s just the kind of father he is.

His kids come first.

With excitement bubbling in her stomach at seeing her husband, Solana takes a glance at her son, smile growing as he stirs, clearly just as ready to see daddy.

She then looks back at her just excited girls, sharing, “time to go see papa.”

“Time to get up.”

Solana has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself, almost entirely due to the shocking nature of her dream. A dream she’s now had every night since being admitted to the hospital, glimpses, and what feels like peeks, into the future.

Her future.

But, at the same time, it’s a distant thing that seems unattainable and unrealistic given where she is now. On a legally mandated psychiatric hold after attempting to die by suicide.

“You up, sweetie?”

Solana nods and sits up in the bed, accepting the water and pills in the small medicine bowl. She doesn’t hesitate to swallow all three, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s been assigned to her, making sure she takes her medication as prescribed.

The nurse, Carol, she thinks, reminds, “breakfast starts in twenty.”

Solana nods, pushing back some of her hair, waiting for the older woman to leave before she lays back down on the bed.

She shuts her eyes.

The past few days have been…..an experience. An emotional ride unlike any she’s been on in years. The last time she can recall struggling and feeling as heavy as she was was when she woke up from her coma and had it confirmed that her mother was dead. Something she knew but held onto the invisible string of hope that Nina somehow survived.

Even though Solana still recalls the moment she heard and saw her mother take her last breath.

It’s a weight that’s lessened tremendously over the past couple of days, since she woke up yet a second time, less irrational, not as hysterical. Part of her reaction was most definitely due to still feeling suicidal, still believing that being dead would be better for everyone. But her reaction was exacerbated by the fact that two male nurses moved to restrain her as she tried to move from the hospital bed. Having male hands on her like that was triggering and made her emotions that much more difficult to manage in an already tense situation.

But the second time she awoke, Solana saw nothing but women. Truth be told, she’s only had women on her care team since being admitted. It’s made such a big difference.

All of it has.

Being in this space, so separated from the outside world. It’s been both difficult and welcomed. A nice escape from a recently draining reality but also a heavy separation that she’s brought up a couple times now in her individual therapy sessions with her therapist, Gail.

That is the difficulty in being separated from Roman. It’s a dichotomy. As much as she wants to see and talk to him, she wants to hide and avoid him. She wants to explain yet also never have to discuss it again. An avoidance behavior that is typical for survivors of suicide attempts, another thing she’s learned in therapy thus far.

But more than anything, Solana just wants to talk to him. She remembers from when she was admitted as a teen following her first attempt that communication is typically cut off from the outside. She just didn’t realize it would be the same protocol as an adult.

Something intended to avoid patients from being re-triggered. She gets that, but it doesn't make her miss him any less.

This is the first time they’ve been separated from one another since before the wedding, and it’s not a fun experience.

But yet….

It’s not a horrible experience either.

No one wants to be in the hospital. And no one definitely wants to be in the hospital on a legal hold because they’ve been deemed a danger to themselves and thus needs 24/7 supervision.

That part sucks, but what hasn’t sucked for Solana is being able to be as honest and vulnerable as she needs to be. To cry and fully acknowledge the extent of her feelings, to be as raw as she’s been in her therapy sessions thus far with Gail. The woman whose kind smile, non-judgemental and self-disclosure of also being violated has created such a safe space for her.

Solana knew, knows, that she can talk to Roman. That he’s made it clear there’s nothing she can’t discuss with him. But, there’s something about speaking to another woman, someone who’s also sadly been through something similar that’s….that’s healing, almost.

Knowing Carol will be back for another reminder about breakfast, Solana pulls from her thoughts and leaves her bed to start her day.

Everything in the hospital is planned, time cut out for everything from meds, breakfast, group therapy, individual therapy and more. There’s only so much time in the day that’s reserved as ‘free time,’ though being hospitalized doesn’t present a ton of options for one to choose from during said ‘free time.’

However, Solana has always been able to occupy herself and keep herself busy, and this is no different.

Later that day, she’s in one of the common areas, utilizing her free time with one of her favorite coping mechanisms. One she’s recently revisited and brought back to lean on. Pencil in hand, Solana uses the sketchbook she was given by Gail. No particular drawing in mind, it’s not missed on her how the bare bones outline of the face she’s drawing has very similar features to that of her husband.

“Hey.”

Solana lifts her head from the page, landing on two women who she’s seen in passing and up close in her group therapy. Both are brunette with similar heights yet different builds. The shorter one looks like she keeps herself in the gym, slender muscles visible even with the hospital provided clothing they all wear. The other is a few inches taller and curvier, her breast stretched against the material. The shorter one is the one who spoke. One looks amenable, the other does not. The one who spoke is, unfortunately, not the one with the friendly expression.

Solana swallows, gaze somewhat traveling as she sees one of the orderlies already watching the interaction. Closely. He’s a big man whose size looks disproportionate to the job he holds here, and she’s noticed him watching her a couple of times. Yet, it’s never been a predatory gaze. Almost…..protective.

“Solana, right?” She nods as the two women plop on the other sofa adjacent to the one Solana sits on. “I’m AJ, and this is Candice.” She gestures to the other woman with her thumb, the brunette waving and smiling almost giddily. Before Solana can say anything else, AJ is leaned over, asking in a low voice. “You’re Roman’s wife, right?”

Solana tenses. For some reason, that rubs her the wrong way, sends an unfamiliar chill up her spine. Something in her tells her to lie, but it’s no use in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

AJ snorts and sits back, arm lazily lounged up on the top of the sofa. “Well, I was gonna ask you how’d you end up here, but I guess that’s an obvious answer.” AJ laughs darkly, making her comment to Candice but directing it towards Solana. “I’d try to off myself too if I had to be married to that son of a bitch.”

Clearly, Solana has not been in a good place recently, hence her current situation. Her emotions have been all over the place. That’s why she chalks up her next actions to the fact that she’s still coming down from her relapse.

Closing up the sketchpad, Solana sits up and doesn't stutter as she states clearly and concisely to AJ, “you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone?”

Candice's shock matches that of Solana’s, but the former doesn’t back down. Doesn’t suddenly regret her statement. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that Solana feels the anger stirring inside her at even the insinuation that Roman could ever be the cause of her trying to end her life.

When he’s the one that saved it.

AJ, however, doesn’t look shocked. She looks pissed off.

And then she’s smiling.

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” AJ starts to stand up, Candice following suit though she looks more confused and dumbfounded than anything. Like she’s there but not here. “Your psychopath husband isn’t here to save you—”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll snap your fucking neck like a twig.”

Three sets of eyes land on the figure who’s way too big for them to have not heard his footsteps, but that’s exactly what’s happened. The orderly who Solana has noticed watching her since her admission is standing almost protectively beside where she still sits on the sofa. His gaze and voice are hard as steel, focused on AJ and Candice. “I suggest you leave. Now. And stay the hell away from her.”

Solana looks between this man who, for some reason, is defending her and AJ, who still looks more amused than anything. She scoffs. “Of course.” Frowning, Solana is still stuck on the fact that this orderly who’s working in a psychiatric wing for women who’ve tried to kill themselves just threatened to kill another woman when AJ simply turns to walk away, Candice hot on her heel.

And as soon as they're out of the vicinity, the man steps back, as if wanting to grant Solana space. He then exclaims, further deepening her shock, “you’ll be safe here, Mrs. Reigns. You have my word.”

Mrs. Reigns…..

Solana is suddenly taken back to her birthday trip, the way she was addressed by the pilots, the chef, and anyone else that Roman hired to assist them on their vacation. And that’s when it hits her.

“Bloodline…..” It makes so much sense. Why he’s always seemed to be around when she’s not in her room, the way he’s watched her almost nonstop since she arrived, the way he intervened just now. “You’re Bloodline.”

“Dave.” He offers a small, respectful smile that’s all the answer she needs. “But everyone calls me by my last name, Bautista.”

________

“Hey.”

It’s interesting how a simple word can bring on such a reaction.

Just yesterday, the same word was said to her and followed up with a not terrible but strange interaction.

She can only pray this time around is different.

Solana takes a second to pause and shut her eyes before she looks up from her inner arm where she works on the assignment given in her first group therapy session.

Her eyes land on three women, all familiar faces because they’re all in her group. However, she’s never directly spoken to them prior to now.

Solana swallows and offers a small smile. “Hi….”

Solana studies all of them, different in skintones, builds, hair colors and even facial expressions. The one who spoke first pushes her raven hair over shoulder and clears her throat, asking, “is it—is it true that your husband had the orderlies and security replaced with Bloodline members?”

The question takes her back, Solana unsure of how to respond, not because she doesn’t know the answer. She does. Baustista indirectly confirming that he was sent by her husband to watch over her has made Solana realize that it’s not just him who she catches watching her whenever she’s not in her room. It’s other men as well. Big, strong, much too in shape for a job like this.

The only logical thing that makes sense to her is that Roman is, once again, looking out for her. As he always does.

“That’s pretty fucking cool. If so.” Another one comments, her brunette pulled to the side of her neck as she sits down on the sofa opposite Solana. “It was even better seeing AJ put in her place.”

Solana swallows, quite unsure just how to respond to that. “I—I don’t want to cause any problems.”

The first woman scoffs, also sitting down next to the other lady. “You might not, but AJ does. I honestly don’t know why they don’t put her in the other wing with Victoria.”

“The other wing?”

The third woman breaks her silence, explaining, her voice quiet and typical for her equally unassuming demeanor. “There’s two psychiatric wings here. The one we’re in and another for more….severe cases.”

“I.e. the really crazy bitches.”

“Melina!” The woman with brunette hair shakes her head, smiling a little as she formally introduces everyone. “I’m Mickey. This is Melina, and that’s Cameron, but we call her Cam.”

For some reasons, the names fit all of them, Solana moving to the side as Cam gestures to the space next to her and takes an almost apprehensive seat.

“Solana—”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, girl.” Mickey snickers, leaning back into the sofa and crossing her legs over one another. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

Solana frowns, completely lost at this seemingly random title. “I don’t—-I don’t understand.”

“AJ thinks she runs shit around here. Her and that dumbass friend of hers, Candice Michelle.” Melina explains, shaking her head. “AJ definitely should be in the other ward with Victoria. She’s the psychiatrist that runs it. Doesn’t put up with shit. Almost polar opposite of Dr. Stratus.”

Solana doesn’t know much beyond what’s being said, but something tells her she’s most definitely in the better of two places. Even if just getting to have Dr. Stratus manages her meds. She really likes her.

However, this conversation brings up a very valid question that Solana doesn’t exactly know how to word very well but finds it in her to ask. “So you all….you’ve been here before?”

It’s obvious, given the fact that they’re all so familiar with each other and dynamics. Same with this AJ and Candice person, but Solana doesn’t want to assume.

There’s a silence that falls over the women, and Solana instantly feels bad, feels silly for not recognizing how invasive that question is. However, before she can apologize, Cam is the one to speak up.

Shrugging, her smile is tight and undeniably sad as she says so simply, “demons are hard to kill.”

And just like that, Solana has never related to something more.

Feeling overcome with an almost duty to share, her eyes drop to her arms, the intricate outlines of butterflies camouflaging the scars that will never fully go away. “I get that……I really do.”

Looking up, Solana feels the set of understanding gazes on her, instantly knowing without any of them needing to share specifics that they just get it. They understand the specific and tragic ways one can end up in a place like this, oftentimes due to demons beyond their slaughtering capabilities.

Mickey clears her throat, gesturing to Solana’s arm. “You’re really good.”

She glances down at her still unfinished art, a small smile falling on her face. “Thank you.” An idea crosses her mind as she notices each of them attempted to follow through on the assignment as well but clearly struggled. “I can—I can help, if you want?”

Cam gasps, obviously excited by the idea of it. “Really?”

Solana’s smile grows as she explains, “I—I love art.”

Mickey squeals almost and pulls out a black sharpie from her bra, shrugging with a playful smile.

“We were kinda hoping you said that.”

________

“You’re quiet today.” Gail’s assessment continues as she asks in a gentle voice, “are you nervous?”

Nervous is an understatement. Solana fidgets on the sofa, running her hands down her sweats. “I—I haven’t seen or spoken to him since….you know.”

Gail presses her lips together, nodding. “You don’t know what to expect.”

Solana nods, eyes starting to water. “I don’t—I don’t want him to be upset with me.”

It’s officially been a week since Solana has been admitted into the psychiatric ward. An interesting experience, to say the least. She’s made enemies, made ‘friends’, worked through and started to process with a professional so much of her trauma, and more. And while her longing for seeing and speaking to her husband has only continued to grow by the day. The day finally being here where she’s allowed a visitor, where he will come to see her this evening feels almost….it feels too soon.

She’s just so nervous, unsure of what that reunion is going to look like.

Gail sees the thoughts brewing in her client’s head as she asks in an attempt to redirect, “are you responsible for his emotions?”

“No, but….but I—” When she struggles to get out a coherent response, Gail presents a thought provoking question.

“Solana, based upon what you know about Roman, what’s more likely? That he’ll be upset with you or that he’ll just be happy that you’re alive?”

It’s such a good question, one that has the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat, emotion she shows as silent tears begin to fall. “I—I want him to be happy, but…..”

“You’re still struggling with feeling like a burden to him….” It’s an assessment by her therapist that is wholly correct, but one Solana can’t verbally comment on, only offering her agreement with a silent head nod. “Do you remember the exercise we did a couple of sessions ago about faulty thinking? About the ways your trauma influences your thinking.”

Solana reflects back on that session, so heavy yet so helpful. It provided her such insight on just how deeply her experiences have painted her view of so much. Of everything, really. Including how she so lowly views herself sometimes.

“I want you to think about that and compare it to the thoughts that you’re having now……where are they coming from?”

Solana closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “My…my fear.”

“And if your fear was a living, breathing entity sitting opposite beside you right now, how would you combat it? Think about the cognitive challenging we discussed.”

Keeping her eyes shut, Solana travels back to that session, utilizing the skills and tips and knowledge she’s learned since her admission.

She takes an ‘efficient breath’, as Gail calls them. “I’d tell my fear that….that you don’t get to control me anymore.”

Gail smiles softly, gently encouraging the young woman to continue. “What else?”

Silent tears continue to fall, but Solana’s voice remains firm and unwavering. “And that….that Roman cares about me and just wants me to be okay and….and get better.”

Gail hasn’t felt so proud and pleased with a client’s response to the empty chair exercise in quite a while. “Exactly.” She sits back in her own chair, jotting down some notes. “Can I ask what you’re feeling right now?”

Solana finally opens her eyes and wipes at her eyes, scoffing quietly. “A…a little better, actually.” She motions to her chest. “It doesn’t….it doesn’t feel as heavy.”

“Good.” Gail makes note of this and starts to ask a follow up processing question when Solana’s soft voice beats her to it.

“Can…..can I talk about something with you?”

Gail’s grin is warm and welcoming as she offers genuine assurance. “Solana, there’s nothing we can’t discuss here.” She’s pleased to see Solana’s smile grow at this reassurance. “What would you like to talk about?”

Feeling on the spot all of a sudden, despite being the one who initiated the conversation, Solana does her best to manage and push through her anxiety. “I—I’ve been….I’ve been having dreams since I got here.”

Gail is mindful of her expression as she asks in a soft voice, “dreams or…..”

Sensing what she’s asking, Solana quickly shakes her head. “No. Not those. Not nightmares. They….they really are dreams. Good dreams, I—I think.”

Studying her, Gail assesses. “You seem unsure.”

Deciding to bite the bullet, Solana shares in a low voice, “they’re dreams of me in the future…..as….as a mother.”

Gail nods. “I see.” She makes note of one of Solana’s nonverbals. “You’re smiling right now.”

Sniffling, Solana continues to share and exhibit so much vulnerability, most of which is solely because of how safe and non-judged Gail has made her feel. “In the dreams, we have three kids. Twin girls and a baby boy.” She wipes at her nose and swallows deeply. “I—I want to be a mom someday, but I don’t….I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

If these dreams have shown her anything, it’s that she wants more than anything to be a positive influence in her future child, or children's, lives. She doesn’t want to cause them even a fraction of the parental trauma she’s experienced.

And deep down, Solana knows that she’s absolutely nothing like her father.

But, she knows she’s very much been deeply impacted by her fathers’ abuse. By all of her trauma. And the last thing she wants is for any of that to negatively influence her children.

“Solana, what makes you think you could ever be a bad mother?” She shrugs, shutting down a bit. Gail sighs lowly, offering words of affirmation and support. “You are not a bad person. You are not a broken person. Not a damaged person. Just a person who’s been dealt some not so great cards, but you’re here, working on these things. Working on becoming a healthier version of yourself.” Gail chuckles, pointing out, “that doesn’t sound like a bad future mother to me.”

Really sitting on the words of encouragement and doing her best to not let the self-doubt creep in, Solana asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “do you….do you really think I could be a good mother?”

Gail’s response is almost immediate, not a thought to be had as she answers honestly, “Solana, I think you could be a damn good mother.”

Solana laughs, emotion seeping in as she nods, utterly grateful for such kind words. “Thank….thank you. That….that means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Gail would like to process this more, maybe get into some additional trauma work, but there’s another important thing on her agenda for this session. “Solana, as you know, your hold will be up exactly one week from now, meaning you’ll be officially discharged and allowed to return home.”

Solana eyes lighten up at that, an expected reaction as Gail gently slides into a deeper conversation pertaining to her release. “But, there’s something I would like to speak to you about.”

________

Roman doesn’t think twice as he walks into the room that’s suspiciously quiet to be located in a hospital, decorated just as one would expect a therapist’s office to look. He only briefly takes a look around before plopping his big body down on the sofa.

He didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that Gail was attempting to extend an olive branch, offering a handshake that he so rudely ignored, clearly ready to get this over with.

She keeps her togetherness, offering a verbal introduction. “Thank you for com—”

“This has to do with Solana, right?”

Gail makes a face, pressing her lips together as she chuckles quietly. “Of course.”

“Then get to it.” Roman is quick with the demands, asking, “how is she doing?”

Gail offers a tight smile. “I’m Gail Kim, the therapist on staff who’s been handling Solana’s individual therapy sessions.”

“Did I ask you who you were?” His stare is cold and uninterested. “I asked you how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Gail refers to the tablet on her lap, opening up the notes she’s happy that she prepared ahead of time. This is going exactly as she predicted it would. “Your wife is no longer endorsing suicidal ideation which means she’s denying any thoughts and plans to take her life, which is significant progress considering it’s only been a week—”

There’s a hint of hopefulness in both his expression and voice as he asks, “so, she’s ready to come home?”

Gail hesitates. “Not exactly.”

The previous hopefulness melts into something cold and harsh. Roman is visibly and understandably irritated. “You just said she’s not suicidal anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Solana is….she’s an interesting case. Her trauma history is significant. Though she seems to be on the way to stabilization, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. She needs continued professional help.”

“Isn’t that why she’s here with you?” His tone is cruel and condescending. “If you’re too fucking incompetent to help her, let me take her home, so I can.”

Gail bites the inside of her cheek. If this was anyone else, she would set them straight on the importance of mutual respect. But, this isn’t just anyone. This is Roman Reigns, and she’s well aware of the fact that one wrong statement or sign of disrespect could very well end her life, so she does her best to remain calm and professional. And she tries an alternative approach.

“You know, one of the exercises she did in an individual session asks about what safe spaces she has, sources of support and whatnot. And you know what she put down for almost every answer?” Gail gives a small, closed mouth smile. “You.” Well trained in reading nonverbals, she picks up on the brief giveaway sign of emotion that flashes in Roman’s eyes at this. “She put down that you are her number one reason for wanting to live.”

There’s a good minute of silence before Roman asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. “So why did she do it?”

Gail's smile shifts into a solemn frown. “I’ll leave that discussion to the two of you. She’s expressed wanting to talk with you about that directly.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gail leans back in her chair and goes a different route. “It’s okay to be upset with her. To be angry at her. To be angry at and blame yourself.” Gail catches just a glimpse of surprise in his eyes at the last part. “To actually feel your feelings.”

Roman, however, is uninterested in any of this. Offended even. “Why the hell would I be angry at her?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? She tried to leave you. That’s essentially what suicide is. Escapism. It provides the patient with the peace they’re looking for but leaves the loved ones left behind with a world of questions and emotions.” She explains, mindful of her tone and voice. “Two truths can exist in the same universe. You can be happy she wasn’t successful and still angry at her for trying in the first place.”

Roman is quiet for a good two minutes, Gail wondering if she should transition to another topic when he breaks said silence in that same low voice.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I told her to tell me if…..if those thoughts ever returned.”

“But she didn’t…..” Gail’s voice softens as she adds, almost empathetically. “I think you’ll find talking with her will give you some of the answers you’re looking for. But, they truly should come from her.”

Roman won’t push. He wants to, but won’t. If this is something Solana wants to discuss with him herself, he’ll respect that. So long as it’s not triggering to her, which it seems, surprisingly, it’s not.

Gail clears her throat and transitions to the next section. “Dr. Stratus started her on a medication regimen of Sertraline, 50mg and Wellbutrin, 100mg, once a day in the morning as well as Hydroxyzine, PRN, which means as needed. The Sertraline and Wellbutrin are antidepressants, and Hydroxyzine can be taken when she starts to feel overwhelmed or triggered. So far, she’s responding well, though it typically takes 4 to 6 weeks for patients to truly notice the full benefits.”

Roman nods, as Gina or whatever her name is, continues to explain what’s otherwise obvious.

“We’ve been administering her medication and given how she attempted to take her life, Dr. Stratus and I strongly advise that you or someone else take over that administration upon her discharge—”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to allow her to have unmonitored access to pills again?” Roman doesn’t even try, not that he was before, to hide his frustration and irritation. She’s acting like he’s stupid. His degrees may be in business, but one doesn’t need to have a degree in behavioral health to know thatyou don’t give a formerly suicidal person free access to the same method they used to take their life.

Gail, however, decides to not feed into it. “You know, anger is sometimes just anger. Just people mad as hell. But sometimes….sometimes it’s what we call a blanket emotion, meaning there are other feelings hiding beneath it, being presented as anger.”

Roma sits forward. “Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Reigns.” A small smile falls on her face, and that only pisses him off even more. Is this bitch trying to patronize him or something? “But, you should know that we offer support for spouses and loved ones like yourself who are supporting—”

“The only thing I need for you to do is to help my wife, so I can get her the hell out of this place and home where she belongs.”

Gail takes a deep breath.

It was worth a try.

“I want to show you something.” She stands up from her chair, moving to her desk as she pulls out a key to unlock the drawer. “Solana signed a full release authorizing us to share all details regarding her care with you. But, there are some things she’s explicitly expressed you not being okay with knowing and seeing. This is not one of them. And I think you would find it interesting….”

If not for the fact that the therapist already made it clear that safety concerns and suicidality are exceptions to confidentiality, Roman would be concerned, wondering just what exactly Solana doesn’t want him to know.

But something tells him she’s perhaps opened up in therapy about specifics regarding her trauma more than she has with him, and if that’s the case, his only hope is that this woman knows what she’s doing and doesn’t trigger Solana further.

She walks back over, handing him a set of sheets. Roman takes them, immediately noticing the handwriting.

Solana’s handwriting.

He gets to reading the bolded question that each has answers of varying length.

Who is your safe person? What makes this person safe?

My husband. He’s the first man in my life to not hurt me. The first man I’ve ever trusted.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust this person with 1 being none and 10 being absolute trust?

How does this person make you feel safe?

He’s patient with me and listens to me and makes me feel beautiful.

How does this person serve as a member of your support system?

He listens to me and always checks on me.

How long have you experienced thoughts/urges/practices of self-harming behavior including suicidal ideation and/or attempts?

The first time I felt like I didn't want to be alive anymore was when I was ten. I woke up from my coma and realized my mother was dead. I just wanted to be with her. But it’s my brother constantly telling me I should kill myself after my mom’s murder that made me seriously think about doing it.

He would tell me that it should have been me who died, and I should just kill myself because no one wanted me.

And I started to believe him.

It’s been on and off since then.

Has there been a point in time where you have not had these thoughts/urges?

Yes. For the past four months.

If you answered yes to the previous question, what caused or contributed to the cessation of these thoughts/urges?

I met my husband. I had real friends for the first time. I found myself having a real family for the first time in a long time.

I was happy.

Prior to this gap, when was the last time you experienced any of these thoughts? What triggered them?

The day of my wedding. This was before I got to know my husband. I was scared he was going to beat me like my dad and brother.

What happened to re-trigger you? If uncomfortable sharing, list the emotions you felt during this episode.

Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

Do you remember what thoughts you were experiencing before the suicidal and self-harming ideation returned? What were they?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my rape and my mother’s murder. It was like I was reliving them over and over again, and I couldn’t get the memories and flashbacks to stop. It felt like all my progress was reversed, and I’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to put my husband and family through that, as they’re the reason I even started to heal.

I just didn’t want to be in pain anymore, and I thought everyone would be happier if I was dead. I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband.

Looking back and reflecting on your thoughts, have they changed? And if so, how?

I don’t want to die. I still don’t feel as good as I was feeling before I found out the truth, but I’m not thinking or wanting to kill myself anymore. I still have a lot of things I want to do. I’m not ready to be done here. Just want to get better.

Do you wish you would have done something different? What could you have done differently?

Yes.

Called my husband.

Can you identify at least one reason your life is worth living?

Roman

Roman has oscillated through so many different emotions reading through this worksheet from beginning to end. Anger seems like the dominant emotion, his jaw clenching as he learns how close to the paternal tree Solana’s bitch brother remained..

He’s not much better than Xavier.

If not worse.

And Roman is determined to find even more, additional ways to make that fucker suffer the way he made Solana suffer for so many years.

He’s also livid and something else unknown that on a day that should have been special for her, she was considering taking her own life.

And he hates himself for putting her in that position in the first place. He was the one who wanted to speed everything up, not even considering how traumatic that process could have been for her.

But he especially doesn’t know how to feel reading just how highly Solana views and feels about him. She hasn’t been very quiet regarding how much she cares about him, but reading her words, her writing, her honesty, it makes him aware of just how much she cares.

“You mean a lot to her. And her healing and progress moving forward will require your support.” Gail cuts in, voice calm and almost soothing. “One of the things I ask clients all the time is who their support system is and is there anything else they need from this person or persons….she couldn’t tell me a single thing she needs from you that you don’t already give her.” Roman says nothing, not even offering a nonverbal gesture or movement for her to analyze. Thus, Gail continues, reviewing her notes of topics she wanted to touch on with him prior to his seeing Solana in a few hours. “Now, I will say, Solana does exhibit strong codependent tendencies. Specifically with you. She’s extremely attached to you, and while that should probably be addressed at some point, her stabilization is the priority.”

Roman doesn’t pay much, or any, mind to that last part. He doesn’t care what this woman says. Whatever Solana needs, she’ll get.

Especially if what she wants is him.

Cause he wants her just as much.

________

Roman doesn’t get nervous.

Ever.

But, he’s certain what he’s feeling in his fucking stomach is some level of nerves.

And he hates that shit.

Cause why the fuck is he at his grown age feeling anxious about seeing his wife? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’ll be the first time in a week that he’s actually laid eyes on her, seeing her not lying unconscious in a hospital bed. That he’ll be able to have her big brown eyes focused on him. Hear the sound of her voice, so soft and light.

He shuts his eyes.

Fucking nerves.

He decides to pull out his phone as a distraction while security escorts her to him in the visitors section, remembering a text from Paul that he should probably respond to. Not that he wants to, but it’s better standing here feeling fucking stupid and—

“Roman…”

He wasn’t sure just sure how he would respond or react or even feel seeing her for the first time in a week, but Solana is barely able to get his name out of his mouth when Roman snaps his head up from the phone in his hand to the direction of which the voice came.

It happens a bit too fast for him to even process. The rise and easy falter of her smile, the gloss of her eyes, the tiny scoff of disbelief that leaves her mouth before she’s running toward him. Roman wastes not a single fucking second to pick her up the minute she throws her body against him. And just like that, almost every trace of irritation, of vexation, of anger melts away.

Roman’s eyes shut as he holds her close against him, noticing how tightly she’s holding him back.

Her voice cracks followed by a sniffle as she murmurs against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you….”

For a brief second, he’s angry again. Angry because has she been asking for him? And if so, why was he not informed? Stratus has been texting him frequent general updates. That she’s been consistently opening up in individual therapy, not as open in group sessions, often writes and draws during their designated free time, etc.

But nothing about her asking for him.

He makes a mental note to ask Stratus about that shit, but not now. Now, his focus is entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

“I missed you too.” Saying he missed her feels like an understatement. Roman has been fucking miserable without her around, but what good would it serve her to share as such? So, he keeps it simple but still accurate.

He ignores the small part of him that dislikes when she finally pulls away, but that dissatisfaction is easily shoved to the side when he sees her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn't mean. I just—”

Roman’s focus is now solely honed in on stopping her from crying. He can’t see her upset. Not after what happened. He moves his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. “Let’s talk, okay?”

She nods, stepping back, forcing his hands to drop but easily sliding her hand into one of his as she leads them in the direction from where she came. Roman won’t lie. He’s not paying attention to much in passing. Just her. It’s like there’s a blurred lens on them, distorting everything around them except his wife.

And he has zero issues with this.

He has zero issues until they’re walking past a group of three women who seem to notice that Solana is crying and stop her, the one who almost looks like she could be Hispanic asks Solana, “are you alright?”

Who the fuck is this? Roman would most definitely ask as such as well as tell her to stay out of their damn business if not for the fact that Solana answers almost reassuringly.

“Yes, of course.”

To make matters worse, this irritating ass stranger has the audacity to almost send a suspicious damn near glare his way. Just who the fuck does she think she is?

The woman on her right suddenly asks, her quiet voice strangely reminding him of Solana. Right off the bat, he can see they have similar demeanors. “You’re still joining us for breakfast, right?”

Solana answers right away, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Joining for breakfast? What the fuck is this? A psychiatric ward or summer camp?

The women all seem to give Solana that ‘call us if you need anything’ nod before finally leaving him alone with his wife. Roman has to keep his sigh to himself.

Only Solana would make ‘friends’ at a damn hospital.

She finally leads him into what he would guess is her ‘room.’ He’s instantly not impressed and annoyed because he directly instructed Stratus to make sure she had the best this place has to offer.

This clearly ain’t it. He adds it to his list of complaints to bring up to the psychiatrist. He’s also annoyed by the ‘sheet’ that serves at the door, irritated that they won’t have total privacy. But, he understands. It’s a psychiatric ward. Not the Four Seasons.

Roman allows Solana to guide him over to her bed where she motions for him to sit down. He does as such, partially surprised when she climbs onto his lap, legs on either side. He doesn’t protest though, simply holds her by his hips as he shifts so that his back against the wall.

Solana, however, keeps her head down, her hands scrunching the bottom of his shirt as she seems to force out, “I don’t want to talk about this—”

That’s an easy thing, Roman quickly moving to remind her of her autonomy. “Then don’t—”

She cuts him off. “But, I need to.” She finally lifts her gaze, and my God, he’s missed staring into those pretty eyes, seeing her pretty face. “I can’t—I won’t avoid it.” She takes a deep breath, asking, “what do you want to know?”

He’s partially surprised by how direct she’s being, but in his defense, the last time he spoke to her directly, she was in such a different place. A much darker place.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, but he knows looks can be deceiving, so he remains cautious. His voice is surprisingly gentle, as he answers, “I think you already know the answer to that, Sol.”

Her eyes shut again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his use of his nickname for her or the emotionality of it all.

Both, probably.

She brings her gaze back on him, and he hates seeing the emotion building back up. Logically, he knows that there’s no way to have this kind of conversation and emotion not be present. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though. “I just….I couldn’t think straight that night, Roman. I just kept reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me but now with the knowledge that it was my own father that was responsible. And I just….I couldn't handle it.”

This is the part he can barely handle. The knowing of the role, a large role, he played in what landed her here. He feels like shit about it and prepares to take ownership when she continues.

“And I thought….I felt like….I felt like all the progress I had made was now gone and that I’d have to start over, and I just—-I couldn’t fathom going through all that again.” She swallows, tears starting to fall. “I felt like I would just be a burden to you and that….it would just be easier for you if I was dead.”

Gutted. Reading it was one thing, but hearing it is an entirely different experience. To know this is truly how she felt, the thought process that led to her making the decision she made. The most likely reason she didn’t call him.

Because she thought she was a burden.

It kills him.

She drops her head, and he moves his hands back to her face. “Solana, look at me.” When she continues to keep her head down, he repeats himself, voice still low and gentle. “Look at me.” She seems to hesitate but follows through, Roman hating how devastated she looks. “Nothing about my life would be easier without you in it. You are never a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. I want to help you. Listen to you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll do. I just need you to tell me.” This time, he’s the one swallowing back unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotions. “I just need you to not leave me, alright?” She seems slightly taken back by his honesty and vulnerability. Truthfully, so is he. It was one thing to be so honest with her while she was unconscious, but it’s another when she sits before him, aware and conscious and hanging onto every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your father. I should have—”

“No. Please—please don’t.” She shakes her head, interrupting him with that same small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.” The ‘shocked’ ball is back in his court as she explains, “I don’t….I don’t think I would have ever wanted to know the truth. It’s….it’s been too hard to have to deal with that.”

Clearly. He can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like for her. To be stuck with the knowledge that her own flesh and blood could be so cruel, so hateful, so evil as to do what Xavier has done to his own daughter.

“The therapy has….it’s helped.” He believes it. Roman has noticed the sheets of paper that have positive affirmations and what he would guess are coping skills taped to the wall opposite her bed. She cracks a small, sad smile. “It’s….it’s been good for me.”

He believes that, too. He can see that. There’s a stark difference in her appearance, even with her being emotional as she is with the conversation at hand. She doesn’t look as fractured as the last time he saw her.

She looks stronger. Happier, even. It makes his chest swell with yet another unfamiliar sentiment.

Love, perhaps?

Just thinking about it has Roman clearing his throat, needing to focus on something other than that right now. “Have they been treating you okay?” This has been pretty high up, if not the highest, thing on his priority list.

She nods, Roman noticing and grateful that her tears are starting to dry up. “Yes. I….how many Bloodline men do you have here?”

“Enough.” She doesn’t need to know the full extent of just how above and beyond he went to ensure no one on staff at this hospital could be questionable about their intentions towards her. “I’m always gonna look out for you, baby. Always.”

Her eyes shut, not from feeling overwhelmed but something else. Something that seems less heavy and more comforting.

Solana moves around on top of him, Roman somehow sensing what she’s trying to do, and he has zero hesitations.

He shifts his body, so he’s laying on her bed, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but it makes no difference to him as soon as she lays on top of him, her head cradled in his neck, her arms around him.’

“I’ve missed you.” Her arm laid against him, Roman reading to close his eyes when he catches onto something for the first time. He doesn’t know he missed it either, because it stands out. Roman gently takes her arm, turning it over.

On her inner forearm are a set of beautifully drawn butterflies of various sizes and colors, the largest being a dark blue color and the smaller one next to it, different shades of red and pinks. There are three much smaller butterflies under the two larger ones, two of them pink and the smallest also that same dark blue.

She looks up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s something they have us do in group therapy. They call it The Butterfly Project.” She shifts her body to show him her other forearm, revealing additional butterflies before she lays back down as she was. “You draw butterflies that represent the people in your life you care about and every time…you think of wanting to self-harm, you remember that you’re killing the butterflies. It’s like….like a reminder that people care about you.”

It’s an interesting concept, and judging by the emotion in her voice, a concept she resonates with deeply. Roman’s long index finger ghosts over the larger blue one as he asks, “who is this one for?”

Solana’s smile deepens. “You.” He’s grateful that she continues to explain so he doesn't have to think much about that sentiment very similar to love that comes up at that admission. “And this one,” she gestures to the pink and red one. “--is me. My future self.”

That doesn’t help the building emotion, so he again goes for distraction, motioning to the remaining three, asking, “and those?”

She swallows, something flashing in her eyes he can’t identify, answering gently, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Her answer confuses him. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to push her either.

“How is Dulce?” She asks suddenly, the sadness in her voice returning.

Roman won’t tell her the way her puppy sometimes sits by the front door around the time she usually gets home from work or the way she whimpers at night every so often, clearly missing her owner. He’ll spare her that, offering only a morsel of the truth.

“The usual. Sleeping most of the day. You can tell she misses you.”

Solana frowns. “I miss her too.” She licks her lips, asking almost nervously, “how are Bay—”

Roman is quick to shut that down, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

Truth be told, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to look or view them the same ever again. It may be a bit irrational and unfair, but it’s how he feels. And truthfully speaking, he’s got ten million other things on his mind and in his heart he’s trying to sort through.

“Roman…..” Solana sits up a bit, and he’s taken back for a second by how fucking beautiful she is. Even with the sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t their fa—”

“Not now, Sol.” His tone takes on a gentler tone as he adds on, for good measure, “please. I just want to enjoy you.”

He knows she’ll bring it up again. She cares too much about the two women who Roman will never trust her with again to just let it go permanently. “Okay.” She lays herself back down on top of him, and Roman kisses the top of her head.

“How are you?”

He’s not quite sure why her question surprises him. But, the answer is an automatic, “fine.”

He’s far from fine, but she doesn't need to know that.

Again, Solana sits up, that frown almost deepening. “Are you sleeping?” She reaches over and caresses his beard. “You look tired. H–have you been taking your medicine?”

Roman is truly dumbfounded. She is the one who is currently a legally mandated patient in a psychiatric ward because she was actively suicidal only a week ago, and yet, she’s laying here worried about him.

Roman has to push back that love feeling that’s returning.

“I keep telling you not to worry about me,” he reminds, once again wanting and almost needing to stress to her that worrying about him should be the last thing on her plate.. “I just want you to focus on yourself.”

Her retort surprises him, bold and almost uncharacteristic of her. “And I keep telling you that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Roman chuckles, commenting, “you’re becoming more outspoken….”

She gives him a small smile. “I told you the therapy has been helping.”

Roman scoffs. She’s right. Maybe that Gemma woman does know what she’s doing.

“Do you need anything?”

Solana says nothing, just lays back down against him, her hand moving over his chest, resting on his heart. “Just you.” She must glance at the clock on the wall as she comments, “we only have 40 minutes left….”

He knows she’s referring to the one hour time block allotted for visitors. Something he absolutely couldn't give two shits about. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.“ He’d stay the whole night if that was what she wanted.

“Roman….” It’s funny how he already knows what she’s going to say. “The rules—”

His interruption is sharp, but it’s not aimed towards her. And she knows that. “I don’t give a fuck about rules when it comes to you.” She sighs into his chest, offering no protest, saying nothing else.

Conversation is intermittent over the next two or so hours, Solana eventually falling asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mind. As much as he enjoys talking to her, having her body on top of his is an easy, acceptable alternative.

He’s missed this. Missed being with and around her. Roman is just now realizing just how much he benefits from having her around. He’s been a complete nightmare for everyone around him outside of Dulce, even more temperamental than his usual default setting.

But the minute he laid eyes on her, saw her innocent smile, had her in his arms, everything suddenly felt so better.

That’s what she does for him. What she is for him.

Medicine.

An antidote. Something he never knew he was missing until he met her. It seems like it was almost impossible for him to not fall in love with her.

Love….

Thinking about it again brings a frown to his handsome face, forcing him to face a reality that’s so easy to escape when he’s with her.

Roman may love Solana, but….he can never act on it. Not really. Can never tell her he loves her. That makes it official. That confirms that he finally has something his enemies can use against him, a distraction, a weakness.

Loving her openly would make him vulnerable, would put her at risk, and he couldn’t do that. Not just for himself but most definitely not to her.

To be with her like this, open and vulnerable, behind closed doors is one thing. It’s an entirely different ballpark though to make that visible and public, even with just telling her.

Feeling her stir against him, Roman kisses the top of her head, tugging her closer.

He won’t deny that he loves her.

But, he can’t act on it either.

He’s just going to have to find someway to push that down, tuck it away for safekeeping.

It’s just better that way.

________

Roman stays for about two hours, Solana waking up and reluctantly expressing her okayness with him leaving. It’s not what she wants, definitely not what he wants, but it’s what’s necessary.

If even for the fact that Dulce can’t be left alone for too long.

Solana holds onto his arm as she walks him out, Bautista not too far behind to escort her back to her room.

But, it’s when he turns to tell her bye, Roman about to ask her when she wants him to come see her again (fuck visting days), she surprises him by reaching behind her back and pulling out a sealed envelope.

Brows furrowed, Roman is curious just how the hell he missed that when she presses it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t read it until you get home.”

Now he’s extremely confused. It’s been a while since Solana has written to thim. They’ve progressed way past that, and it does concern him a bit that she didn’t just talk to him about whatever lies between the lines of this letter.

But, he also knows she’s been working hard in therapy and even in being able to open up to him about what happened that night had to have been a lot for her, so he won’t push it and will respect it.

Accepting the letter, he simply says, “okay.”

She offers a close mouthed smile, a sign of appreciation and moves to hug him once more, mumbling something in Spanish against his chest that he can’t make out. When she pulls back, he doesn’t hesitate to cup her cheek, reiterating, “you need anything, you let me know, alright?” They’d already briefly discussed how she had picked up on the fact that he had his men stationed strategically all over this place, and any of them were able to get a message to him.

She nods, repeating to him, “okay.” Solana tugs on his shirt and leans up to kiss his cheek, murmuring against his ear, “bye, Roman.”

It seems saying goodbye is difficult for her just as much as it is for him, Roman unable to reciprocate it, only letting his gaze follow her retreating form until Bautista gives him a nod and closes the door behind them.

He stands there for a good minute or two before actually leaving.

Fuck. Leaving her seems to be getting harder and harder.

Roman is barely in the SUV, door not even shut when his long fingers are moving with all the determination to open up the envelope. He unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find her neat handwriting.

Roman,

I need to ask you to do something for me, but I need you to please hear me out before you settle on an answer. And please know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe it’s something I really need.

I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I never want to cause you any stress or create any problems for you.

I wasn’t in a good place, and this experience has made me realize there’s still a lot of parts of me that still need to heal. I still have a lot to work through.

That’s why I’m asking.

Gail mentioned a treatment facility she runs about an hour away. It’s a 6 week program for women coming out of the hospital like I will be.

Roman, I think I should go.

I don’t think I should come home just yet.

I don’t feel ready. I’m not having those thoughts or urges anymore, but there’s still things I think I need to work through. I don’t ever want to put you through something like this again. I don’t ever want to end up back here again, but the only way I can do that is by making sure I’m good before I leave.

And I don’t know if another week can do that.

I miss you. So much. It’s been hard being away from you and Dulce and everyone else. But, I feel like I have to do this. I need to do this.

For us.

But mostly for me.

I want to get better.

Please let me.

Te quiero mucho,

Solana

BTW, I’m saying ‘I love you very much’ in Spanish.

Because I do.

I love you, Ro.

And I don’t need you to say it back or feel the same. With what you’ve been through, I’d never expect or ask that of you.

I just need you. Your continued support. That’s all. That’s enough.

With all my love,

Solana

________

“I’m so sick of your bloody fuckin’ shit, Seth! It’s the same fuckin’ thing over and over again, and I’m done!”

The cadence, melody, and even tone of his wife’s rant serves as the perfect resources for Seth who is lazily sprawled out across their sofa, beer in one hand, the other hand moving as if conducting an orchestra.

And he is.

Because this has become a song and dance with his fiery tempered, Irish wife.

Seconds later, she’s practically stomping in the living room, their daughter in hand who is most definitely old enough to remember this little spat. He cackles to himself. How unfortunate.

However, Becky’s enraged gaze is focused on him, disgust plastered all over. “Were you even listenin’ to me?”

He makes a sound, unbothered eyes falling on her, that infamous smile growing. “Of course, dear.”

Becky, however, knows better. Has been with this man long enough to know better. And she’s done. “Ya know, I thought you were getting better, yeah? But then that bloke Breaker comes over here looking for you, and I—” Becky cuts herself off, refusing to start yelling with her daughter in her arms. Her accent is even thicker, as she shares while adjusting the bag on her other shoulder, “I’m gonna go stay with Charlotte til’ I can figure out just what I’m gonna do.”

What she’s not saying is that she’ll stay with her closest American friend until she can find the funds and resources to move back home.

She’s just done.

Seth, however, seems unconcerned by the fact that she’s leaving with their kid. “Okay, dear.” He snorts, falling into that all too familiar maniacal laugh. The one that typically accompanies the reckless and dangerous behavior that has her packed and ready to go. It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but with a child now, Becky has a responsibility to keep her daughter safe.

And there is nothing safe about her husband rekindling ties with the Nightmare Factory.

Not wanting him to see the pending tears, Becky kisses her daughter’s cheek and heads for the door, not allowing herself to hesitate as she rips it open only for her jaw to drop.

She scoffs. Unbelievable. With even more support for her decision to leave, Becky looks over her shoulder at her husband who climbs to his feet. “First the Nightmare Factory, and now the fuckin’ Bloodline?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, you dig your own fuckin’ grave, Seth.”

And with that, she moves past the figures, determined to not look back this time.

Meanwhile, a massive smile grows on Seth’s unshaven face, delight dancing in his dark eyes.

This is certainly proving to be such an eventful day.

He practically stumbles over but manages to stand firm as he takes a swig of his beer, burping loudly and then asking with all of the excitement, evil smile on his face.

“How can I help you?”

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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reasonsforhope · 9 months

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"The New York City Council voted to ban most uses of solitary confinement in city jails Wednesday [December 20, 2023], passing the measure with enough votes to override a veto from Mayor Eric Adams.

The measure would ban the use of solitary confinement beyond four hours and during certain emergencies. That four hour period would be for "de-escalation" in situations where a detainee has caused someone else physical harm or risks doing so. The resolution would also require the city's jails to allow every person detained to spend at least 14 hours outside of their cells each day.

The bill, which had 38 co-sponsors, was passed 39 to 7. It will now go to the mayor, who can sign the bill or veto it within 30 days. If Mayor Adams vetoes the bill, it will get sent back to the council, which can override the veto with a vote from two-thirds of the members. The 39 votes for the bill today make up 76% of the 51-member council. At a press conference ahead of the vote today [December 20, 2023], Council speaker Adrienne Adams indicated the council would seek [a veto] override if necessary.

For his part, Mayor Adams has signaled he is indeed considering vetoing the bill...

The United Nations has said solitary confinement can amount to torture, and multiple studies suggest its use can have serious consequences on a person's physical and mental health, including an increased risk of PTSD, dying by suicide, and having high blood pressure.

One 2019 study found people who had spent time in solitary confinement in prison were more likely to die in the first year after their release than people who had not spent time in solitary confinement. They were especially likely to die from suicide, homicide and opioid overdose.

Black and Hispanic men have been found to be overrepresented among those placed in solitary confinement – as have gay, lesbian and bisexual people.

The resolution in New York comes amid scrutiny over deaths in the jail complex on Rikers Island. Last month, the federal government joined efforts to wrest control of the facility from the mayor, and give it to an outside authority.

In August 2021, 25-year-old Brandon Rodriguez died while in solitary confinement at Rikers. He had been in pre-trial detention at the jail for less than a week. His mother, Tamara Carter, says his death was ruled a suicide and that he was in a mental health crisis at the time of his confinement.

"I know for Brandon, he should have been put in the infirmary. He should have been seeing a psychiatrist. He should have been being watched," she said.

She says the passage of the bill feels like a form of justice for her.

"Brandon wasn't nothing. He was my son. He was an uncle. A brother. A grandson. And he's very, very missed," she told NPR. "I couldn't save my son. But if I joined this fight, maybe I could save somebody else's son." ...

New York City is not the first U.S. city to limit the use of solitary confinement in its jails, though it is the largest. In 2021, voters in Pennsylvania's Allegheny County, which includes Pittsburgh, passed a measure to restrict solitary confinement except in cases of lockdowns and emergencies. The sheriff in Illinois' Cook County, which includes Chicago, has said the Cook County jail – one of the country's largest – has also stopped using solitary confinement...

Naila Awan, the interim co-director of policy at the New York Civil Liberties Union, says that New York making this change could have larger influence across the country.

"As folks look at what New York has done, other larger jails that are not quite the size of Rikers will be able to say, 'If New York City is able to do this, then we too can implement similar programs here, that it's within our capacity and capabilities," Awan says. "And to the extent that we are able to get this implemented and folks see the success, I think we could see a real shift in the way that individuals are treated behind bars.""

-via NPR, December 20, 2023

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hard--headed--woman · 4 months

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Sorry again for the late post ! Today, after talking about my favourite poet (Renée Vivien), I'm gonna talk about on of my favourite filmmaker ;

Chantal Akerman !

Chantal Akerman was a Belgian filmmaker who was born in Belgium in 1950 and died in Paris in 2015.

She has had an absolutely insane influence on cinema, most recently when her film "Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles", was named best film of all time (which honestly is very fair, this movie is a damn masterpiece).

She was a lesbian, though she didn't talk about it much and didn't want to be reduced to a "lesbian filmmaker". She was married to Sonia Wieder-Atherton, a cellist. Female homosexuality is a recurring theme in her movies - with sometimes long and explicit sex scenes between women, not at all created for the male gaze.

Chantal Akerman comes from a Polish Jewish family. Her grandparents and her mother, Natalia, were deported to Auschwitz, and only her mother returned. Her relationship with Judaism has had a profound influence on her cinema.

She studied briefly at the Institut National Supérieur des Arts du Spectacle in Paris, before going to New York, meeting some other filmmakers, and making some short movies, movies and documentaries. But her huge international success came in 1975, with Jeanne Dielman.

"I was tossing and turning in bed, worried. And suddenly, in a single minute, I saw the whole of Jeanne Dielman..."

I'm going to try and keep it professional when I talk about Jeanne Dielman, but it's going to be hard, because I LOVE this film.

It's a three-hour film that follows three days in the life of a widowed housewife, Jeanne Dielman, who lives with her son, spends her time doing household chores and prostitutes herself to survive. The film is shot in the illusion of real time: if Jeanne spends 30 minutes cleaning her living room, you'll be watching her do it for 30 minutes. (Obviously none of the scenes are that long and there are ellipses but that's to illustrate my point). It's revolutionary. A poignant film about the condition of housewives, alienation, the way we make sure we're busy all the time so we don't have to think about life or death. The tension escalates little by little until the deeply disturbing end of the film, when everything comes crashing down. A masterpiece. Everyone should watch it. It's long but it's worth it! (Plus the main actress is incredible, both as an actress and as a person).

This film was a huge success, and she continued to make others, with recurring themes of the status of women, mother-daughter relationships, lesbianism, death, mental health, alienation, boredom, the need for freedom, solitude, the passage of time, inner suffocation...

More generally, women are at the heart of his work. Women, their inner lives, their identity as women, their experiences...

Chantal was also a great feminist. She defended women's rights in her words, her actions and her films, and was keen to put women in the spotlight. She even surrounded herself almost exclusively with women to create her films.

Suffering from manic-depressive psychological disorders and deeply affected by the death of her mother Natalia a year and a half earlier, she decided to end her life at the age of 65 on 5 October 2015 in Paris.

She is buried in Père-Lachaise cemetery.

She is remembered today as an extraordinary filmmaker and a true innovator. Her films, long, emotionally chanllenging, psychologically and philosophically profound, are quite simply splendid. Check her work!!!

Chantal had a unique and magnificent style, and many more people should watch her films and documentaries.

#chantal akerman #jeanne dielman #cinema #movies #filmaker #female filmmakers #female film directors #lesbian filmmaker #lesbian #lesbian pride #pride #pride month #lesbian history

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iww-gnv · 8 months

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SEATTLE (AP) — For months, Andrea studied for her master’s degree in library sciences between dancing naked at clubs in Seattle. But then she was sexually assaulted at work and slapped by a customer — and nobody stepped in to help. Now, she and hundreds of other strippers in Washington state are fighting for statewide protections that would be the most comprehensive in the U.S., according to advocates. “We shouldn’t be verbally abused for just doing our job and existing,” said Andrea, who has seen a DJ at one club harass dancers if they don’t tip him enough. She avoids the club if he’s there, said the 24-year-old, who would only use her first name. The Associated Press does not identify people who say they have been sexually assaulted. Known as the “strippers’ bill of rights,” proposals being considered in the Legislature would require a security guard at each club, keypad codes to enter dressing rooms, training for employees on preventing sexual harassment, and procedures if a customer is violent. They would also require training on how to de-escalate conflict between dancers, employees and customers, and signs stating that dancers are not required to hand over tips.

#news #labor news #sex work is real work #sex workers rights #sex worker rights #swers #swer #seattle news #washington news #us news #uspol #us pol #sex worker protections #pro sex work #pro sw

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girlactionfigure · 9 months

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Simone Segouin, mostly known by her codename, Nicole Minet, was only 18-years-old when the Germans invaded. Her first act of rebellion was to steal a bicycle from a German military administration, and to slice the tires of all of the other bikes and motorcycles so they couldn't pursue her. She found a pocket of the Resistance and joined the fight, using the stolen bike to deliver messages between Resistance groups.

She was an extremely fast learner and quickly became an expert at tactics and explosives. She led teams of Resistance fighters to capture German troops, set traps, and sabotage German equipment. As the war dragged on, her deeds escalated to derailing German trains, blocking roads, blowing up bridges and helping to create a German-free path to help the Allied forces retake France from the inside. She was never caught.

Segouin was present at the liberation of Chartres on August 23, 1944, and then the liberation of Paris two days later. She was promoted to lieutenant and awarded several medals, including the Croix de Guerre. After the war, she studied medicine and became a pediatric nurse. She passed away a few months ago at the age of 98. May her memory be for a blessing.

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

#WWll #Shoah #Simone Segouin #French Resistance

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malloph0ra · 3 months

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I’m doing conflict de-escalation training for my job and the instructor mentioned that there was a study that showed people could tell who was in charge of a situation even from just a photo and I immediately thought of Perez and Strahm’s introduction scene.

I always got the impression that Lindsey was the one calling the shots in their dynamic, which is interesting considering Strahm is probably senior to her experience-wise. Strahm is always sort of checking in with Perez and we see her standing/sitting over him in a lot of scenes. She also does a lot of the talking for them when they’re together.

Idk maybe I’m crazy I just love her so much and she should have survived these movies man

#lindsey perez #peter strahm #saw #sawposting #saw movies

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shebreathedherlast · 10 months

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Haunted

gf!anakin x reader

Summary: You're best friends with Anakin but you have a boyfriend. Anakin takes it into his own hands to deal with this problem.

Word Count: 3.8k

tw: murder

Anakin sat atop the dark metal picnic bench as he listened to you ramble on about your psychology major. You have always loved psychology and studying the human brain. He allowed you to ramble, twirling a fallen strand of your ponytail between his index finger.

“Anakin, are you even listening to me?” You ask.

He only hums in response, as he continues to play with your hair. You had been friends with Anakin since your junior year of high school and ever since then, you two have been nearly inseparable. You had always seen him around, as he fell into the popular crowd but it wasn’t until he saved you from the wrath of your ex that you two became quick friends.

You continue to tell him about the aspects you find fascinating about psychology and how it has helped you learn to read people.

“So I take it you enjoy your classes?” He says.

You nod, “Of course I do, but the work can be overwhelming at times you know?”

“Mmm,” He agrees before changing the subject. “You still need a ride to Padmé’s tonight?”

You smile sheepishly, “Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, but I just don’t think your boyfriend would approve,” He practically spits the word out as he responds.

You turn around to swat his arm. Anakin has never liked your boyfriend, Jess. Now that you think of it, he has never liked any of your previous boyfriends either. You dismissed the thought of his protective nature ever since he saw your high school ex Nathan hit you. When that happened Anakin had practically beat him to death, successfully scaring your ex from ever coming near you again.

“Don’t worry Ani, Jess won’t mind,”

“What won’t I mind?” Jess asks, approaching you.

“Shesh man, you appeared outta nowhere, practically jumped out of the bushes or something,” Anakin scolds, allowing his annoyance to filter through.

Jess chuckles, “Yeah sorry about that bro, just saw my girl here,” he scrunches his face with a smile, “--and I just had to come see her,”

Jess leans in to plant a kiss on your lips, coming to sit beside you on the bench. He reaches for your thigh, stroking it up and down with his thumb as his hand trails further north.

“Jess,” You laugh, “Not here,” You say, pushing his hand with a firm expression.

Anakin scoffs, “Keep it in your pants, Kennedy,”

His jaw is fixed. Anakin’s grip on your hair tightens as his fists subconsciously clench.

“Oww Ani, you’re pulling on my hair.” You groan.

Anakin cringed, unravelling his fingers from your wavy locks, “Sorry angel,”

Jess reaches for your head, smoothing your hair down, “Since when were you his angel?” He asks, a certain possessiveness in his voice.

Anakin turned his eyes to your boyfriend, “Since high school, prick.”

You notice how quickly their conversation is heating up and attempt to de-escalate the situation.

“Anakin.” You shoot him a stern glare. “Behave,”

He just lets out a dark chuckle, rolling his eyes, “Yes ma'am,” He mocks.

Jess tries to start up a new conversation for your benefit most likely.

“Hey uh, have you heard about the whole psycho killer on the loose?”

You squeal, “Yes! Of course, I have. Isn’t it crazy? A real-life ghostface killer in our city?”

Jess quirks a brow at your excitement. He opens his mouth to talk before Anakin cuts him off.

“She’s big into slasher movies. Thinks that all the killers are complex psychologically so she finds them fascinating,”

“But this guy is real,” Jess states.

You nod, “Yes he is, I just wanna know what makes him do what he does, and in such an extreme way. Isn’t it interesting?” You know that to almost anyone you’d sound freaky, finding serial killers fascinating, but what can you say? You just want to study how utterly complex they are.

Anakin snorts, “Well there’s that, and you also think ghostface is hot.”

You look down in embarrassment, turning a shade of pink as Anakin exposes your secret attraction to the slasher. Jess seems shocked at this revelation, “You find this murder attractive?” He asks, a puzzling expression painted on his face.

“No, no,” You say, waving your hands for emphasis, “Not the real ghostface, just–uh the ones in the Scream movies.”

Anakin and you had binge-watched the Scream movies last year in your final year of high school, and you would rant to him how hot you thought ghostface was. There was just something about the long robes, mask, and blood-stained knife that had you clenching your thighs.

“Well then, I know what to wear for the Halloween party at Padmé’s tonight,” Jess said

You giggled as you threaded your fingers through your boyfriend's messy hair. “Uhg–please do Jess, you’d look so hot,”

“Well in that case,” He flashed you a knowing smile, “Anything for my girl,”

Anakin shifted above you, running his hand through his dark blonde hair, something he always did when he was irritated.

“Would you guys get a room already? This is disgusting.”

“Aw Anakin, is someone jealous they don’t have a girl?” Jess mocked, slipping his arms around your waist, passive-aggressively emphasizing that you were his girlfriend.

Anakin hated the way Jess touched you, in fact, he hated everything about Jess, but mostly the fact that he was your boyfriend. After all, you were his first, and he was determined to show this to Jess, no matter the consequences.

“Whatever man,” Anakin played off as he reached for your backpack, “We have to leave anyway to pick up y/n’s costume.”

Jess glared at Anakin, as he studied his face. “Yeah sure bro,” He replied to your best friend before turning to you, “I’ll see you at the party after my shift, wear something nice for me babe, okay?”

You giggled, “Always do Jessy.”

Anakin groaned, walking to his car, “Angel you coming?”

You turned from Jess after saying your goodbyes, “Right behind ya!”

________________

You sat in the passenger seat of Anakin’s car, as he drove you to Padmé’s house. The land outside seemed to blend together at the speed that Anakin was driving. He had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the head of your seat, brushing against your bare shoulders. You were dressed as Black Widow from the MCU and Anakin had black ripped jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. You’d brought your make-up with you so you applied what was necessary to complete your look. Anakin made you promise to use your make-up to create a skull face. He was dressed as Tate Langdon from AHS.

When he parked on the side of the road outside of Padmé’s house you got to work transforming his face. You used your favourite fluffy brush to apply the white powder on Anakin’s face as he laughed, “That tickles. Stop it,” He said between giggles. When you finally finished the two of you exited his car and made your way into the house.

Once you and Anakin had settled at the party, he took off to get a drink. You went to find your friends. Padmé spotted you first as she beelined towards you. She wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

“Girl, you look gorgeous!”

“Thanks,” You replied, as she led you to your other friends, Satine, and Sabé.

They were dressed in various costumes, Sabé’s with more effort than Satine's, but they both looked wonderful to you.

“Wow, you all look amazing!” You said, smiling kindly.

A chorus of “thank you’s” was spilled before you were raptured into their gossip.

________________

Anakin was walking back to find you, drink in hand when something, or rather someone bumped into him.

“Watch where you're going man,” Anakin growled as he managed to study the liquid in his red solo cup.

The person who bumped into him looked up to meet his angry gaze. “My bad bro,”

“Jess,” Anakin spat.

“The one and only,” The other boy replied, dressed in a black t-shirt and baggy black jeans. A cheap plastic ghostface mask adored his face.

Anakin practically rolled his eyes at his crappy get-up.

“When y/n said she thought ghostface was hot, she definitely didn’t mean this cheap trash version.”

“Chill dude, why have you been so on edge lately? Get a drink, get laid, cool off.” Jess said stumbling, obviously already drunk. “That’s what I’m planning to do anyway.”

Anakin bawled his fists. He hated how Jess would talk about y/n behind her back. In all honesty, he didn’t know what his angel saw in him.

In response to Jess, he only nods before making his way through the mass of bodies filling the house.

________________

It was nearly two in the morning and by now the party had died down leaving only Padmé, Satine, Sabé, Jess, Anakin and you. Satine was watching a movie while Jess started kissing you. He moved his hands up and down your body as you sighed into his kisses. Turns out you did like his ghostface costume. Anakin watched you and Jess with disdain as he leaned against the wall, a beer in hand. Unknown yet to him he had crushed the cup with anger. When Jess led you upstairs he saw red and it took everything in him not to beat your boyfriend to a pulp. Anakin dragged his hand down the length of his face, turning to grab his belongings.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out now Padmé, see ya girls,” Anakin waved goodbye to the other two girls on the sofa.

“Have a safe drive, Ani!” Padmé called after him.

Anakin visibly twitched. He hated being called “Ani” by everyone, well that is everyone except for you.

He managed to mumble a quieted, “thanks,”

Anakin walked out to his car, opening the glove box for the make-up wipes you kept stashed, cleaning the painted skull off his face. He started the car and circled around to the next block.

________________

“Sabé! We’re out of drinks, I’m gonna grab some more!” Padmé called out to her friend from the kitchen.

“Okay, thanks, Paddy!” Sabé yelled back before turning her focus back to the rom-com on TV.

Padmé made her way down the stairs, each step creaking with her force. She strode to the cold room, various slacks of expensive meat hanging from the hooks on the ceiling. Padmé maneuvered through the room reaching the end and grabbing a set of six beers. She turned back, beers in hand, weaving through the slacks of hanging meat when she was pulled to the side by a pair of anonymous arms. When the infamous mask came into view she yelped.

Padmé was shaking. She felt her mouth go dry and her senses numb. “Jess this is not funny, you really scared me.” She attempted to brush it off, laughing, to stay as calm and collected as she could.

The raspy voice of a modulator spoke. “You think this is funny Padmé?” It asked and suddenly a knife was plunged into her stomach. Instantly pain flooded her body, she screamed, as loud as she could, but her screams were quickly muffed by the figure's gloved hand.

Tears fell down her face, “What did I ever do to you,” She asked her muffled cries coming through.

A dark chuckle arose from ghostface, “Nothing.”

Padmé kicked and pulled away as best she could, blood pouring from the stab wound in her stomach. She knew no one was coming for her and she needed to do all she could to survive.

Padmé delivered a hard blow to the Slasher's stomach and their grip loosened. She bolted from the masked figure, clutching her wound as tears poured from her eyes.

She was only free of him for seconds before his strong hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back, only for another excruciating thrust of the knife to rip through her flesh. The pain was too much. She could barely breathe. More crimson blood spurted from her back. And with each passing second her body weakened.

Ghostface pulled on her shoulder to face him, “All out of fight are we now, Padmé?” The deep voice echoed.

Padmé whimpered against his hold, before thrashing in his grip once again. Ghostface humoured her by releasing her watching as she desperately tried to crawl away. He allowed her to get all but ten feet away from him before pouncing on her like a lion to its prey, delivering a swift jab through her collarbone. Padmé let out a blood-curdling scream as ghostface picked her up and squared the previous wound of her shoulder blade with a lone meat hook, releasing her to dangle from the ceiling like a piece of butchered meat. The jagged hook impaled her smooth skin, allowing perfuse amounts of blood to gush from her near-lifeless body. Finally, Padmé’s frame saged, drained of all life. Dark red blood pooled on the floor as ghostface sought out his next victim.

________________

Sabé and Satine’s giggles were heard through the house as the two laughed at the movie before them. It had been nearly twenty minutes since their friend Padmé went to retrieve more beer, but now they were beginning to worry.

Satine was the first to speak up, “Sabé do you think Padmé’s alright? It’s been quite a while since she went downstairs.”

Sabé waved her off, “I’m sure she fine, probably just got carried away and started drinking.”

Satine leaned back into the couch, but something about the situation did not feel right.

As the girl neared the end of the movie they were sprawled out on the couch, Sabé nearest to the living room entrance.

No one heard him. The figure crept into the room without a sound. The only noise that radiated was that of the TV, and the deadly scream of Sabé in suit.

Satine whipped her head around to the horrific sight of ghostface repeatedly stabbing her best friend. “Sabé!” Satine cried out in fear.

Blood soaked her clothes, staining the couch. Sabé attempted to move but was too weak to do so. The last words she managed to mutter before her body failed her were “Run,”

Satine screamed in anguish as she ran from her dying friend. She had reached the front door, turning the knob when the killer’s knife was thrown, lodging itself in the back of her neck. Satine collapsed to the flood, choking on the spurting mess of her own blood.

Ghostface yanked his knife from her blood-covered throat, as he ascended the stairs to the upper floor.

________________

Jess hovered above you, angling his face to kiss you hard. His hands found your hips as he dug into the flesh of your thighs.

“I love that you’re mine,” He groaned against your mouth.

You shivered under his hold, before pulling away from him, “Jess, can we talk first,”

He continued littering your body with kisses, “mmhm,” was the only response he gave.

You pushed him off you slightly, sitting upright on the bed as he begrudgingly did the same. “I don’t like how you talk with Anakin. He’s the most important person in my life and his approval means the world to me. So could you try to just–I don’t know, just at least try to get along with him.”

Jess sighed, “Damnit y/n!” He screamed, startling you, “I don’t wanna hear about Anakin. I hate how close he is to you, so no, I will not change anything. He is trying to take you from me, you're just too blind to see it.”

You shut your mouth, teeth grinding against each other in frustration, “Jess, come on, please-”

He cut you off, “No! I don’t care how much you deny it, you have to at least be aware of the way he treats you. That guy literally hates everyone on this planet but you. He is always with you, he’s practically the one dating you. He drives you places, buys you things, calls you pet names and everything!”

“Stop it Jess! Anakin is not trying to take me from you, he’s just protective because of what happened with my last boyfriend. He’s looking out for me. And he is my best friend. So if you don’t get yourself together for me, because Anakin is important to me, then you can leave!”

Jess stayed quiet, as you awaited anxiously for his answer. Your nails subconsciously picked at the flesh of your knuckles. Eventually, Jess spoke up, “Fine y/n. I’ll do better with Anakin,” he said forcefully.

You smiled in relief because as much as you liked Jess, Anakin would always be your top priority. Jesse offered you a kind smile back before leaning in to place another kiss on your lips. As each kiss progressed, he seemed to become hungrier and hungrier.

Your boyfriend lifted his shirt from his body, pressing you close to his chest. His kisses became more urgent and desperate as his hands travelled lower and lower from your stomach.

One second your boyfriend was kissing you and the next he was thrown to the ground. The ominous ghostface stood before you, and no–this was not the fictional slasher in the movies, this killer was real, he was real and he had a eight-inch metal knife gripped tightly in his gloved hand. And contrary to most you didn’t scream. You were too shocked to be seen face to face with the real ghostface, the California killer stood towering before you and he had just flung your boyfriend to the floor.

Contrary to your reaction, Jess did indeed scream. He scrabbled to his feet, pressing himself impossibly close to the wall of Padmé’s bedroom.

Ghostface stalked forward to Jesse, knife raised and body fixed. Instead of delivering a fatal blow to the neck, he plunged the knife into Jess’ right hand. Your boyfriend cried out in pain. You stood still as blood spilled from his hand. Ghostface then repeated his action to your boyfriend's other hand. You cringed at the impact of the sharp weapon and Jess’ flesh. Your boyfriend let out another scream of pain.

“Stop, stop, please, stop,” Jess begged, ghostface’s knife, still impaled in his left hand.

The dark raspy voice of the modulator came through. “Pathetic little thing,” It scoffed, yanking the knife from your boyfriend’s broken and bloody hand.

“Stop.” You spoke, and you almost wish you hadn’t. Ghost face turned to you ever so slowly. He moved with an eerie terror, facing you as your boyfriend gasped in pain.

“Why should I sweetheart?” The modulated voice asked.

The pet name sent shivers through your body. “Answer me,” He spoke again.

“Because I don’t know your motive.” You stated.

“What if I don’t have one,”

His answer sent terror shooting through you. But then your thoughts drifted to your friends downstairs. “Padmé?” You questioned, a shake in your voice came through, but you did your best to push it down.

“Dead,” He responded.

“Sabé, Satine?” You asked hopefully.

“Dead.”

He stared you down, waiting for you to ask another question. “What about Jess and I?”

“One of you will die, and the other may live, it depends on how generous I’m feeling.”

You sat there for three erie seconds before nodding. Before a name pounded at your mind.

Ghost face turned from you a brief second to stab his knife into Jess’ heel, pulling the blade down, he severed it from his leg. Jess cried in pain. Ghostface did the same to the opposite heel before swiftly plunging the jagged knife into Jess’ face. You made a move to stand, but ghostface threatened you, “If I see you move another muscle from that bed, I’ll slit lover boy’s throat.”

You remained completely still. The only movement was the rise and fall of your chest.

Tears welled in your eyes as you made the choice to speak, “What about Anakin?”

Ghostface froze at the name before straightening himself, “I gutted him like a fish,”

A broken sob escapes your lips. “No,” you say softly, “No, no no,” Each word ripping the anger from your soul. You screamed, a scream so full of raw heartbreak it burned through your throat.

It was then that you forgot about everyone. You jumped up, neglecting ghostface’s threat and launched yourself at the man who took away your entire world.

Ghostface stumbled back, clearly not expecting you to attack him with such savage-like force. You didn’t care. You didn’t care if you got hurt, or if he killed you, or even if he killed Jess. Your thoughts ran red. All you close see was Anakin's mauled lifeless body.

You grabbed the stainless steel water bottle from Padmé’s nightstand and dashed it across ghostface’s mask. His head was knocked back from the impact.

“I will kill you for this!” You screamed in rage. Hitting him over and over. Ghostface held his hands up to shield his face from your vicious attacks. “He was all I had!” You yell, pulling his hands away. “Anakin was my everything!” You scream again, sheer anger coursing through your body. You were now straddling ghostface, your body pressing him into the floor. Ghostface finally wrestles the water bottle away from you, pushing you down, switching places with the previous position you had him in. He pins your wrists above your head as you thrash with maddening anger in his grasp. You’re body finally gives in as you sob in utter heartbreak. Thick tears pour from your face, “What are you waiting for,” You choke, “--just kill me, there’s no point in living without him,” You sob again, sending tremors through your body.

You’re shaking uncontrollably as ghostface angles his knife to press against your tear-stained cheek, “Now, why would I do that my angel,” he replies.

You’re entire body freezes as you process his words. You slowly lift your trembling hands to the bottom of ghostface’s mask, and when he doesn’t stop you, you tug at the mask, allowing it to fall from the person’s face. Anakin’s face. Your Anakin. He’s okay, he’s here with you right now and that’s all you can think about before you throw your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. He reciprocates your actions, kissing you with fervour.

“I love you,” Anakin whispers.

“You are my everything.” You reply, heart full of emotion, before pressing your lips back to his.

Though he has done unimaginable horrors you still kiss him, because you know that no matter what Anakin is your life, and you are his. Nothing mattered besides him and only him. As Jess bled to death Anakin took his girl, but now in his final moments, he wonders if you really ever his to begin with. Because if you were deranged enough to kiss the man who killed your closest friends, you must have been madly in love with him for the better part of your entire life.

#anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #scream6 x reader #scream6 #ghostface #ghostface x reader #gf!anakin #star wars #scream

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bullet-prooflove · 10 months

Note

Heyy could u pls do 13) “I need your loving every night” for Tim Bradford. Thank x

Part One: Monster

Part Two: The Gaslight (NSFW)

Tim can’t stay away, and neither can you. That’s the problem when you find the person you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life. You don’t want to be apart from them.

It’s the third night in a row he’s spent at your new apartment, and Tim knows that’s dangerous. He’s cautious when he comes out to meet you. He checks his car for any GPS devices, leaves his phone at home. He takes long circuitous routes ensuring that he hasn’t picked up a tail somewhere along the way.

Tonight, he meets you on the doorstep, you’re carrying a bag of groceries under your arm, which he takes from you before he steals a kiss. It’s teasing and soft, full of promises and hope, hope that you can do this for real one day out in the open.

He makes love to you that night, the light from the streetlamp outside illuminating your skin as his hands thread through your hair. You’re beautiful but Tim has always thought that, it’s in these moments he sees that fierce, wonderful girl he fell in love with.

It’s three in the morning when Tim slips out of your bed. He doesn’t want to leave, he wants to spend the night wrapped up in your sheets, your body tucked against his as you sleep peacefully in his arms. Instead, he disappears like a thief in the night.

When he’s called into Ashworth’s office the next day, there’s a tension in the room. It sets Tim’s nerves on edge because it reminds him of the nights his dad used to come home from the bar. The apprehension. The unpredictability. The propensity for violence.

When he stands before his Captain, he remains impassive. It’s the same thing he used to do when his father was spoiling for a fight. It’s meant to de-escalate but this is a new playing field for Tim, a different dynamic than the one he’s used to.

He doesn’t flinch when Ashworth sets the tablet down in front of him, his gaze lowers to the image and his jaw tenses. It’s from that first night at The Gaslite, the two of you are standing outside, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek before kisses you for what he had thought was the last time.

“You’re fucking her.” Ashworth says, his voice tight.

Tim doesn’t answer, he merely tilts his head up, his gaze focused on the American flag, pinned to the wall beyond Ashworth.

“Do you know where she is?” His Captain asks as he studies Tim.

Again, Tim says nothing and Ashworth sighs as he leans forward to retrieve the tablet.

“Is she really worth your career Bradford?” He asks him almost conversationally and Tim allows himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

He sees the look of triumph on Ashworth’s features. He thinks he’s won, that Tim will fold underneath the threat. It shows how much value the other man puts upon you; how much he underestimates what the two of you have.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Ashworth says, his eyes boring into Tim’s. “Won’t we?”

@kmc1989 @viridianphtalo @burningpeachpuppy @anime-weeb-4-life @malindacath

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #the rookie #tim bradford the rookie

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taintedges · 4 months

Note

*tiny little polished shoes running across igneous rock* inkblade headcanons perchance?

You can’t just say perchance!

However, I am absolutely honored to be asked. All takes place after junior year.

This one, I thought of after the little epilogue they had. With them hinting that Adaine and Aelwyn will hunt their mother down maybe during summer break, they will probably need a little party of their own to do that.

So the rest of the bad kids are busy. Kristen and her four-god pantheon, Riz trying and failing to de-stress, Fig’s podcast with Sandra Lynn ep. 69, Fabian buffing up to welcome his new sibling, Gorgug probably busy in his new bench with Mary Ann. And going back to the forest of Sylvaire is certainly going to be difficult for just two wizards.

Jawbone trying to both be a helpful parent and school counselor, suggests they bring trg or now high five heroes(?), let's face it they need some practical applications outside school.

Adaine absolutely hates this idea and does not think another wizard would be useful (she strongly emphasizes that Oisin should be excluded)

Aelwyn provides her own sassy remarks but surprisingly becomes the mediator when an argument happens, which is often.. usually when Oisin tries to refine parts of the plan and puts forward his many “better” ideas which, of course, he has.

And even when Adaine admits to herself that his plan makes more sense she doesn’t ever give up an argument. At first, Oisin doesn’t reciprocate but his cattiness comes out and the whole thing just escalates.

During travel when the silence is too awkward, Oisin will start talking about a book he really likes, and Adaine just roasts his taste even though she probably thinks the opposite.

They may have saved each other from dying multiple times in combat and will awkwardly say thank you after.

There are times when the forest gets too dark and Adaine remembers the last time she was there and how scary it was to face her fears alone. She often wonders if it was the same when Oisin died before getting forced with a rage star in him.

Sometimes they stay up talking at night when she can’t trance and finds him the only one still awake.

When they start to become familiar with each other’s magic, they become totally in sync during a battle (the rest of the group pretends not to notice how good they work together).

Sometimes Oisin wonders how Adaine would know something about his magic that he didn’t talk about (in my head, when tbk snooped around Ruben’s house and Adaine was in his wizard’s tower, I think she studied everything she found and probably took some of his stuff too, perhaps his quill and Oisin certainly notice it missing and wonders how it got into Adaine’s backpack. He doesn’t take the quill back after seeing that Adaine likes using it.)

Adaine also would threaten Oisin to teach her how he created the spells inside ping pong balls all while making remarks about what he did.

Oisin carries Boggy around when the familiar doesn’t immediately follow Adaine. Adaine just assumes Boggy always follows her and Oisin secretly likes stealing Boggy, who is just happy to be here because he now has two parents.

I think Oisin’s crush on Adaine dissipates and only comes back 10x harder at the end of their quest when he sees how capable she is.

Here’s a fun one. Coming back after their adventure, a party at Seacaster Manor in anticipation for senior year.

Adaine gets drunk on bad baby milk and insists on playing beer pong with Oisin.

Ivy is teasing because Oisin actually cannot make a shot (for real, not on purpose).

The drunker Adaine gets the more careless she becomes and hurls the ping pong ball at Oisin and boy do they hurt.

Bickering starts and tbk and trg are no help until Ragh intervenes and puts them on time-out upstairs. Bad idea.

Probably for the first time, Adaine admits that she thought he was cute and bluntly asks him if it was all a ruse to undermine her party and WHY HE MESSAGED HER SORRY AT THE CAFETERIA he could have just not said anything and left her alone.

Oisin does admit that he did like her then and he still likes her now, but the rest of senior year is just Oisin groveling.

Adaine has many times placed ping pong balls with spells written in them in his locker so that when he opens it, his things just fly out and he has to clean it up (I rewatched the scene and Adaine’s really disappointed expression tells me she will not let this go). trg finds this absolutely hilarious and are the ones who kept telling her his locker combinations.

Oisin continues therapy sessions with Jawbone and they find each other there after school.

One time Adaine accidentally left Boggy in Jawbone’s office so Oisin comes to her after to return him.

And every single time after that, Adaine just leaves Boggy on purpose. Jawbone notices (because Boggy just stares at him with his big round eyes. Boggy knows what to do even when Adaine doesn't tell him) but doesn’t say a thing.

One time, tbk are outside on one of the benches when Oisin comes to return Boggy, Kristen’s like, "What’s going on are you co-parenting?"

There’s no formal conversation, just a mutual understanding that Adaine isn’t angry anymore and trusts Oisin to always bring Boggy back.

Do they talk during these interactions? Not at first. But after it became a routine, now they hang out in the library, in Mordred Manor, and of course at Basrar’s.

Some days, Adaine doesn’t leave Boggy at all and Oisin just knows to find her at the end of the day.

This might have been too long.

I cannot write romance for the life of me but I try. Perchance these would suffice because this is a crisis and we are in drought!

INKBLADE NATION WE MAY HAVE LOST THE BATTLE BUT WE STAY WINNING THE WAR!

#i am awake for 24 hours idk what i’ve written #i feel delirious #it was a really expensive quill #boggy has to be included okay #inkblade #oisaine #adaine x oisin #adaine abernant #oisin hakinvar #good night

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thatshirleylee · 11 months

Text

brennan's statement on instagram

I'm calling on my government officials to immediately demand a ceasefire and de-escalation in Gaza.

I applaud anyone and everyone calling for peace, with the understanding that real peace only exists if it deeply and honestly accounts for and fully ends violence in all its forms. Real peace addresses and corrects wrong-doing in the past and guards against it in the future. It goes hand in hand with justice and requires truth, restoration, reconciliation, reparation.

Peace cannot co-exist with collective punishment, ethnic cleansing and forced displacement. It cannot co-exist with blockades, embargoes, or with 2.2 million people, half of which are children, trapped with no hope of escape or political recourse. It cannot co-exist with murdered journalists, bombed hospitals, or years of protesters being shot and killed at the border. It cannot co-exist with illegal settlements segregated roads, and the silent, imperial chill that settles over the gaps in the yiolence - the unspoken geopolitical consensus that a group of people need to unflinchingly accept permanent subjugation and occupation.

My heart breaks for every Israeli person who lost loved ones during the attacks of October 7th. It breaks for every Ukrainian person who has lost their loved ones. It breaks for every Congolese person who has lost their loved ones. I do not speak on behalf of Palestinians now because some lives are worth more than others. I speak on their behalf because, as an American, my government is actively championing and financially funding their mass slaughter and forced displacement.I speak on their behalf because l, and all Americans, have a responsibility to pressure our government because we are responsible for this. Some have said that this situation is complicated. The United States government clearly disagrees. It has definitively, categorically, militarily chosen a side, and I do not agree with that decision.

In writing this, I have been wrestling with what I am sure many people like me wrestle with: There is a powerful narrative surrounding violence in the Middle East that asserts an ever-moving goalpost of self-education and study in order to even be qualified to have an opinion. As someone with a love of research, I have at times in my life fallen into the trap that I am not educated enough, clever enough or aware enough to have a worthwhile perspective, and that three more articles and two more lectures and one more book will do the trick. Unfortunately, democracy doesn't work that way - we, the citizens of any democracy, cannot possibly be experts on every aspect of the policies of our governments, and yet if we do not weigh in and make our voices heard, the entire experiment falls apart. Not only do people constantly doubt themselves and the things they can see with their own two eyes, but old shortcuts for political action can fall apart as well: This specific issue exists along a raw, charged and unique faultline in American politics. Nobody I grew up with has ever challenged me on my support for abortion rights, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, none of it. The people in my country who would despise me for those positions are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to me. But there are people who l've broken bread with and shared honest affection with who will see the words l've written here and incorrectly conclude that I do not wish for the security, dignity and happiness of them and their loved ones, and that breaks my fucking heart. Full-throatedly condemning the actions of the Israeli government while battling rampant anti-semitism at home is an urgent moral necessity, and doing so is made unnecessarily challenging for the average person to navigate by the pointed obfuscations of cynical opportunists, bigots, and demagogues on all sides of the political spectrum who see some advantage in sowing that incredibly dangerous confusion.

So, I'm calling my representatives. I'm having hard conversations with friends and family. I'm here, talking to you. I should have done it sooner. If you're Israeli and hurt by this statement, know that I want freedom, dignity, security and peace for you, and that every ounce of my political awareness believes whole-heartedly that the actions of your government are not only destroying innocent lives, but doing so to the detriment of you and your loved ones' safety. If you're American and feel lost and confused - I understand and empathize. This, the whole country, only works when we get involved. I am constantly haunted by the specter that maybe I have missed some crucial piece of information on this, or any, important world event: I'Il just have to make my peace with that self-doubt and trust my gut by going with Jewish Voice for Peace, Amnesty International, the Geneva Conventions, the United Nations, etc. And if you're Palestinian and reading this: I unreservedly support your right to life, to freedom, to happiness and human flourishing, to full enfranchisement and equal rights, to opportunity, prosperity and abundance, to the restoration of stolen property and land, and to a Free Palestine.

#free palestine #brennan lee mulligan

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claymoresword · 1 year

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I Choose Her | Chp: 13

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of known death eaters from one of the richest and oldest wizarding family. Are you prepared to abandon everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: character deaths, parental neglect, mentions of mental/physical/emotional abuse, potential self harm references

Note: an update?? who saw this coming? definitely not me! i know i disappeared for a very long time, i have no excuse i just hope you can accept my apology

i also was kind of procrastinating this chap for so long bc of the heavy themes in this, i just knew this wasn't going to be an easy one to write... (i was right) but anyway i added some fluff to hopefully balance it out so we'll see lol

anyway thanks so much for your patience, i hope you enjoy this one!

also one last thing, thanks for all the love shown on the previous chapters, sorry if i hadn't gotten around to replying to your comment yet but i do appreciate all of u !!

Taglist:@gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karsonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic

(pics are not mine)

As you approach Malfoy Manor you find it increasingly difficult to catch your breath.

You were foolish to assume you wouldn't eventually get caught.

You fleetingly consider grabbing Hermione and disapparating, but Greyback's firm grip on your arm prevents you from even attempting to reach for her.

The gates of the manor come into view, and you try to pry your arm away again. A last ditch effort, but it is no use.

The man forcefully holds you in place and you have no choice but to stand in front of the gate.

You make eye contact with Bellatrix as she approaches from the other side, her gaze then shifts to a disfigured Harry to your left, before landing her attention back to you.

A maniacal smile flashes across her face, as if she found the display before her truly amusing, and you have to fight the urge to cower.

"Get Draco."

════════════════════════════════════════════

You stood in the foyer in front of your parents. An involuntary thrill travels down your spine as you study their expressions. You cannot recall the last time you have seen either of them this furious.

"So this is what you have been doing all this time?" Your mother exclaims, gesturing to Hermione and you have to avert your eyes.

Your silence only further infuriates your parents.

You cannot help but feel a sense of embarrassment, being apprehended like a child in front of the other Death Eaters, Harry, Ron, and worst of all, Hermione.

"Have you absolutely no regard for your mother or I?" Your father finally speaks, his voice vibrating with anger.

"We have given you everything. Do you have any idea what we had to sacrifice just to raise you? Your mother and I have provided you nothing but the best." Your father raises his voice, it is sudden enough that it causes you to wince.

"This is how you repay us?" He continues.

"Do you have any idea the shame you have brought upon my name? Upon our entire family?" Your father steps closer but you keep your gaze fixed to the ground.

"I'm sorry." All you could afford to utter.

You hate how you feel in this moment, powerless and meek, only wishing for the ground to swallow you whole, so you never have to face any of the people in this room ever again.

You can feel Hermione's worried stare, but you cannot bear to look at her.

"We have warned you time and time again to end your relations with her." Your mother hisses, gesturing to your girlfriend.

You finally lift your head but your mother harshly grabs your forearm to pull you aside.

"Don't you dare look at her, y/n." She scolds, pure vitriol.

"You must think us fools. Is this all just a game to you?" Your mother taunts but you choose to remain silent.

An effort to de-escalate but it results in the opposite effect as you catch your mother fishing her wand out of her pocket.

"We have given you more than enough chances. More than you deserve." She states, pushing past you, storming directly towards Hermione.

A flicker of fear appears on your girlfriend's face. One you mirror, just as you realize what your mother intended to do.

Hermione tries to retreat, only to bump into Scabior, purposely standing behind her to cease her attempt at fleeing.

"It is time you suffer the consequences of your own actions." Your mother takes a fleeting glance at you before lifting her wand to point it at your girlfriend.

Taking large strides, you manage to put yourself in between Hermione and your mother, just before she gets the chance to utter the spell. You feel your girlfriend's firm grip on your arm as you continued to shield her with your body.

"No! Mother, please, don't." You plead, holding up your hand and she hesitates.

"I am sorry I have disappointed you. I am sorry I went against your wishes."

"But I will not– I cannot apologize for loving her." You hesitate as your voice trembles, but you speak the words anyway.

You hear a cackle from Bellatrix, grumbles and groans of disapproval coming from the Death Eaters gathered in the corner, and once again, you feel more exposed and deplorable than ever.

Your mother remains staring at you, this time with nothing but disdain.

"Love?" She scowls, almost like it disgusted her just to utter the word.

"In love with a mudblood?" Your mother's tone shifts, now incredulous and despondent.

She finally lowers her wand, only to strike you across the face with her other hand.

You hear a gasp from Hermione, but otherwise the room is silent, as you clutch your cheek in pain.

When you finally muster the courage to look at your mother her expression betrays no trace of regret.

"You are no child of mine." She utters, exasperated, and your heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

Tearing your eyes away they naturally fall on your father, standing a few paces behind.

You recognise a tenderness somewhere in his eyes, one you hadn't ever been awarded before. It's jarring and unfamiliar, it makes you want to weep.

"Step aside, y/n" Your mother says, lifting her wand again.

Perhaps it was pity, perhaps now your father was just as embarrassed as you are, or maybe, it is love that compels him to step forward, placing a gentle hand on your mother's shoulder.

"Darling, this is hardly the time or place." He attempts, but your mother doesn't move.

However, footsteps soon approach that causes all of you to shift your attention.

Draco can be seen entering the foyer with both of his parents, interrupting your altercation.

Your best friend pauses at the sight of you, evident concern etched across his face.

"Ah, Draco." Bellatrix acknowledges him and he's forced to look away from you.

The witch walks up to Harry, harshly gripping a handful of his hair to pull his head back, giving Draco a clear view of his face.

"Is it him?" Bellatrix asks expectantly, and the platinum haired boy couches in front of Harry.

"I can't be sure." Draco responds, dismissively.

His father then grips the back of his neck, harshly, and you observed as your best friend flinched under his touch.

You instinctively take a glance at your own parents.

Your mother has since resumed her position next to your father, both of them deliberately avoiding your gaze, once again your chest constricts painfully.

Scabior is standing so close behind you and Hermione, too close, you can both feel his breath against the back of your necks.

"Look closely son." Lucius says.

"If we are the ones to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven." He adds, his voice low but it echoes through the large hall anyway.

"Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him. I hope." Scabior states, finally stepping away from you.

"Mr Malfoy." He continues to antagonize, and it works to set the other man off.

"You dare talk to me like that in my own house?" Lucius raises his voice and Draco flinches again.

"Lucius." Narcissa finally steps forward, extending her arm to calm her husband.

Hermione remained clutching your arm, her grip only tightened the longer you stood watching the commotion before you.

Finally, none of the Death Eaters are in close proximity, so you decide it an opportunity to try and escape.

"We need to apparate." You manage to whisper to Hermione, reaching down to intertwine your fingers but your girlfriend shakes her head.

"We can't leave Harry." She responds and you sigh, defeated.

An answer you expected but it causes your anxiety to heighten anyway. You begin looking for another solution, another way to flee.

"Now, if this isn't who we think it is and we call on him, he will kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure." Bellatrix warns.

"What's wrong with his face?" Draco finally asks with a scowl.

"Yes, what is wrong with his face?" The dark haired witch repeats.

Scabior shrugs.

"He came to us like that." He states simply.

"Something he picked up in the forest I reckon." Another snatcher chimes in.

"Ran into a stinging jinx.." Bellatrix quips.

"Was it you, dear?" She asks, pointing directly at Hermione.

You feel your heart stop as your girlfriend tenses next to you.

"Give me her wand, let's see what her last spell was." The witch orders, and the evident worry that flashes on both of your faces easily gives you away.

"Ah, I caught you." Bellatrix says pointing at the two of you, amidst a cackle.

"It appears your girlfriend is not as smart as she thinks she is." She taunts, looking directly at you, successfully earning a grimace.

You contemplate lunging at the other woman, but before you can act, she halts.

She catches sight of the sword of Gryffindor proudly propped up, next to one of the snatcher's.

"Where did you get that from?" Bellatrix gasps.

"It was in her bag when we searched her, I reckon it's mine now." The snatcher responds with a grin.

Before any of you can comprehend it, Bellatrix sends the man flying into the wall with a single throw of a spell. She then points her wand at the other snatcher in the corner, taking him out too.

"Are you mad?" Scabior exclaims, but the wand pointed at his face in an instant, silences him immediately.

"Get out! Get out!" Bellatrix repeatedly shouts, and the band of snatchers scurry out of the hall, all fearing for their lives.

"Put the rest of them in the cellar." She exclaims, lifting Harry by the collar before grabbing Ron as well.

She shoves them hard enough that they fall by Wormtail's feet.

"I want to have a little conversation with this one." Bellatrix states.

You feel Hermione get ripped from your side, and instinct kicks in.

"No, get your hands off her!" You exclaim, reaching out to grab her but Bellatrix swings her arm, you feel a harsh blow to the stomach that knocks the wind out of you, making you land on the ground as a result.

"Bella!" Her sister scolds, rushing to your side.

"Stop fighting, you will get yourself killed." Narcissa warns, you feel her firm hand on your shoulder as she forces you to stand next to her.

Before you can respond you feel another harsh grip on your collar attempting to drag you to the cellar with the boys.

"No, not her– I want her to watch this." Bellatrix states, gesturing for Wormtail to let you go, and he does.

All you can focus on is the way Bellatrix is handling Hermione, the sadistic smile as she does so, rough and thoughtless.

Your girlfriend looks terrified, and you feel utterly powerless.

She soon retrieves a dagger from her side, holding it up in front of Hermione's face.

"I will give you one chance to answer my question, before I start cutting." Bellatrix says.

Your head is now pounding, your abdomen still aches from the blow, your face stinging where your mother struck you.

Hermione attempts to make an escape but with one swift flick of Bellatrix's hand, she bounds your girlfriend's legs, causing her to fall onto the ground.

You watched as the witch got on top of her, pinning her down by her shoulders.

She then forcefully cuts through Hermione's sleeve with her blade, until enough of her arm was exposed.

"That sword was meant to be in my vault in Gringotts, how did you get it?" She asks, her face an inch away from Hermione's.

Your girlfriend is silent, beyond the whimper that falls out of her lips.

This seems to only urge Bellatrix to bring the tip of the dagger to Hermione's arm. The older witch begins dragging the blade down the exposed skin.

Hermione's sobs quickly morph into deafening screams and you don't feel anything beyond panic.

"It was me! I stole the sword, not her!" You raise your voice, hoping that it would be enough to take the attention of your girlfriend.

"Quiet! I am not asking you." Bellatrix retaliates, merely brushing you off like some pest.

Your eyes followed as she hovered the blade over Hermione's arm again. You see her blood trickling from her wound onto the wood underneath, and you feel sick.

"Please, I didn't take anything." Hermione pleads helplessly, and your chest aches so much you can barely breathe.

"I don't believe you." Bellatrix begins cutting again, this time she's laughing.

Deriving true pleasure from torturing Hermione, and you couldn't stand by and witness it any longer, you had to act.

Amidst your girlfriend's screams you manage to slip past Narcissa, stepping next to her son.

"Draco, give me my wand." You state firmly, as his hesitant stare meets your pleading one, he hands you your wand after a beat.

"Stop lying!" Bellatrix exclaims, you see her lower the blade down to Hermione's arm again and you don't allow yourself to think a moment longer.

You point your wand at the dark haired witch.

"Avada Kedavra!" You exclaimed, survival and wrath, your only goal was to save Hermione.

The bright green light shoots out from the tip of your wand, in an instant, the witch drops onto the ground with a large thud, motionless.

"Y/n, what did you just do–" You hear your mother exclaim but you don't acknowledge her, you refuse to.

Her shock, along with everyone else's; hangs in the air, mute but suffocating.

Hermione is the first to come out of it, she sits up and you rush to her side.

With your arms around her you shut your eyes not half a second passes before you both disapparate, leaving your family behind.

You find yourself at the outskirts of Tinworth by Shell Cottage. The location you all agreed to meet at if anything went wrong.

It was meant as a precaution, you never actually thought things could ever go this wrong.

Disowned by your parents.

Murdered another in cold blood.

Your girlfriend tortured and maimed.

"Hermione, it's alright, you're safe now." You state, carefully placing your hands on either side of the other girl's face.

Your girlfriend doesn't meet your gaze, scattered, her mind entirely elsewhere.

"Y/n, we have to go back, we have to help the boys–" She says, you stop her with a firm hand on her forearm before she can stand.

"No, Hermione! It's too dangerous. If we go back they will kill you." You say with a raised voice, unintentional, driven by your heightened emotions, but it works to get the other woman's attention.

"I can't– I can't lose you." Your voice shakes and Hermione finally looks at you.

An expression flashes across her face that tightens the knot in your stomach.

She lets herself breathe and think, she realizes what you had done just moments prior, the significance, its implications.

"You killed her." Hermione states, more awe than contempt but you scramble to defend yourself anyway.

Truth be told you don't know why you had reacted the way you did, you weren't even aware that you had it in you to begin with.

"I had to– sweetheart, she would have continued to hurt you if I didn't stop her." You stutter, but Hermione quickly silences you.

Her lips crash into yours, fervent, anguished, and eager. Your girlfriend's hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling even closer.

Hermione's clinging onto you; with no desire to let go of her lifeline, her love, the only reason she is still here, safe and alive.

You are forced to pull away as your lungs burn from the lack of air.

"I will go back for them myself, promise me you'll wait for me here." You breathe out against Hermione's lips, your forehead resting against hers.

Before your girlfriend can even begin protesting you see Harry apparate in the distance. Closely followed by Ron and Luna.

The ginger haired boy is first to run to Hermione's side.

"Hermione, y/n. Are you alright?" Harry shouts, your girlfriend nods but you don't respond. Your eyes remain on the elf behind him.

You catch sight of Dobby, limping as he clutches his stomach.

"Harry Potter." The elf calls out, weak and frail.

Harry finally follows your gaze.

"Dobby." He says, sprinting to Dobby's side, and the elf collapses right into his arms.

You watched as a distressed Harry pulled something that seemed to have impaled the elf, he finally sets it on the sand next to him and your own stomach turns.

You immediately recognize the bloodied dagger.

How can a single object cause so much damage?

You feel your anger resurfacing, you regret not discarding the blade when you had the chance.

"Just hold on, okay?" Harry says as he tries to stop the bleeding, placing his hand over the wound.

"We'll fix you. Hermione will have something." He reassures before turning his attention towards her.

"In your bag– Hermione?" Harry pleads and your girlfriend merely clutches you tighter.

"Hermione." He repeats, desperate.

"Help me!" The man shouts, you hear your girlfriend let out a sob.

A barely audible "I'm sorry." before Hermione turns to embrace you, burying her face into the crook of your neck.

An attempt to protect herself from the inevitable anguish; witnessing someone entirely undeserving of death, go out so painfully, abruptly.

"Such a beautiful place– to be with friends. Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter." The elf mutters, and you are unable to stare any longer.

You make accidental eye contact with Ron, but for once there is a shared regard between the two of you. Grief, sadness, gratitude, acceptance.

The sheer helplessness Harry feels is shared amongst all of you as you watch the elf take his last breath in his arms.

You observed as Luna walked up to him, graciously shutting Dobby's eyes with her fingers.

Hermione remains in your arms, and you hold her close, having no intention of letting go.

"I want to bury him– properly. Without magic." Harry says, fighting back his sobs.

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You are jolted awake once again out of a distressing dream. This time your girlfriend is not in bed next to you, you sit up abruptly in a panic.

"Hermione?" You call out, and the voice that responds almost immediately, swiftly eases your nerves.

"I'm here." Your girlfriend says, emerging through the doorway.

"I had to use the loo." She then explains, climbing back into bed.

With the feeling of Hermione's head against your chest you can breathe again.

You spent most of the night lying awake, and when you did manage to find sleep you were merely tormented by nightmares.

The encounter in Malfoy Manor could've gone much differently, in fact it could've ended horribly. You were so close to losing everything that mattered to you. You could only vow that you will never allow yourself to get that close again.

Any relief you felt this morning derived from knowing your girlfriend at least managed to find some sleep herself. Clearly the events of yesterday took a toll on her, but she is resilient, as always, and you adore her for it.

"I'm sorry you had to leave your parents." Hermione says after a long silence.

"Don't be. Nothing good has ever come from me being around them." You state truthfully, threading your fingers through her hair, absentmindedly.

"You saw how they were." You add.

"I know, still, I'm sorry." Hermione repeats it anyway, lifting her head to place several kisses against your cheek, the same spot your mother had struck.

You then reach down, gently grazing her bandaged arm, soon lifting it up to place a tender kiss against it.

The look Hermione gives you in return makes your heart stop and beat faster in your chest all the same.

"You know, I fight so hard because of you." You admit, extending your arm to cup her jaw.

"I never had a reason before you." You add, your thumb stroking her cheek.

You watched as your girlfriend's eyes welled with tears, overwhelmed and consumed by adoration.

Hermione finally leans in, capturing your lips with her own. The kiss snatches the air right out of your lungs, but you don't care. You'd never wish for it to end.

She finally pulls away only slightly before resting her forehead against yours.

"I love you, y/n. So much, more than you'll ever truly know." Hermione says, and the pleasant fluttering that travels throughout your entire body translates to an easy smile on your lips.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #hermione granger #slytherin au #harry potter #harry x hermione #hermione granger x reader

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